A Path to Insanity
by brownpaperbags
Summary: The third story in the Trust of a King arc. Camelot is just beginning to recover from the demon war, but Arthur and Merlin's journey is just beginning. Arthur faces insanity and must journey to a dimension unlike anything he has ever seen to free himself from madness. Will Merlin and his king prevail or will Arthur's paranoia kill them both? Please Read and Review!
1. Next Stop: Looneyville

**Author's Note: **_Hello to all! Here is the new story in _The Trust of a King _story arc. For all my followers welcome back and to anyone who is reading my stories for the first time I would highly recommend reading _The Trust of a King _and _Aftershocks _as they are the two prequels to this story. There are also some minor little stories you can read that might explain some jokes and conversations, but those are not required. Some of you have asked if this will be a trilogy and I have not decided upon that yet. Part me wants to end it after this story, but a larger part of me wants to keep going within this particular arc for as long as people will read it. Anyways, updating on this story may be off and on due to my school schedule and the hectic clean up after Hurricane Sandy so please bear with me. I don't have to be back at work until Monday even though the subways opened yesterday so I might get a few chapters done, but there is so much work to be done that I don't know. And don't even get me started on this frakking marathon and stupid Mayor Bloomberg….GAH! As usual please READ AND REVIEW!_

"Guinevere," Arthur called, striding into their shared chambers with a large, silly grin on his face. "Gwen, where are you?"

Arthur received no answer and his smile widened. The king of Camelot had only recently been freed from the sleepy, dulcet tones of Geoffrey of Monmouth who had given him a rather in depth history of his ancestors in such a way that Arthur had to continuously pinch himself to stay awake. His wife, who had been called away on 'business' halfway through the lesson, had whispered promises that sent desire tingling through his body and had instructed Arthur to find her once the meeting was done.

And find her he would. It had been too long since the two of them had a day to themselves and Arthur was willing to do whatever it took to ensure his time with his wife was uninterrupted.

"Gwen," Arthur called again. "Come on out, Gwen."

No answer, but Arthur heard the soft rustle of fabric and a small, mischievous laugh from somewhere in the hallway behind him. He turned and sprinted out the door of his chamber just in time to see the bottom of Gwen's dress disappear around the corner.

"Oh, it's a chase you want," Arthur yelled after her, laughing. "Well, it is a chase you shall receive, my lady."

He took off after her and rounded the corner, expecting to see the back of his wife as she dashed away from him, but finding Merlin instead. The young man's face was solemn and his eyes were filled with pity. He held out a hand to his king as if to stop him.

"Don't," Merlin said softly. "Don't go after her, Arthur."

"What the hell are you talking about, Merlin?"

"Gwen," Merlin replied. "She's lying to you, sire."

"Don't be ridiculous," Arthur scoffed, pushing past his old servant. "Honestly, Merlin sometimes I wonder what goes—Merlin?"

The young man had suddenly disappeared as if he'd never been there. Arthur looked around the hallway for some sign of his friend's presence, but found nothing. The king rolled his eyes.

"Warlocks," he muttered in annoyance, continuing down the hallway in search of his playful Guinevere.

Arthur soon realized, as he had many times before, that the problem with searching for anyone within a castle was that there were so many places for one to hide. The sheer size of the grounds would be daunting enough, but add in the various secret passages, shadowed nooks, and a never ending amount of doors in which one could escape through and the task went from daunting to near impossible.

"Gwen," Arthur huffed out after nearly thirty minutes of searching. "This is getting old real quick! Just come on out, would you?"

The king received no answer and he sighed. He wanted to ask one of the servants if they might have seen which direction she had headed off in, but there was no one around. In fact, Arthur realized that he had not seen a single soul in the castle hallways other than Merlin since he had left his throne room. Where the hell was everybody?

For reasons unknown to him, Arthur felt a thread of fear and unease enter his belly. He recalled Merlin's sorrowed eyes and his heart began to beat fiercely against his chest. Suddenly, his self-control snapped and he found himself sprinting down the hall, yelling and shouting for somebody to answer him.

Oh, how idiotic he would feel if his paranoia turned out to be nothing. He had never been a jumpy man and had faced horrors without so much as a tremor more times than he could count. Yet, somehow, the thought of being alone in his castle terrified him.

"Hello," he shouted. "Someone answer me, dammit! Merlin? Gwen? Please, I—"

"Arthur," Gwen said from behind him.

Arthur whirled around at the sound of his wife's voice and he nearly cried at the sight of her. She stood at the end of the passageway, her hands clasped calmly in front of her, staring at him as if he'd gone mad. For a moment there, he had.

"Gwen," he said, forcing himself to walk calmly to her side. "Where have you been? I was worried. You wouldn't answer me."

"We were waiting for you," Gwen replied softly.

"We? Who is we?"

Gwen smiled at him and stood on her tiptoes so that she could whisper in to his ear. Arthur shivered as her lips touched his skin and he grasped her shoulders to pull her close.

"Come and see," she said, pulling away from him. "Come and see, Arthur."

"Gwen, can't we just—"

"Come and see, my king."

Arthur frowned at her words, but allowed her to take his hand and lead him to wherever 'we' was waiting. She pulled him around corners, down halls, up stairs and down again, never saying a word even when he asked her about their destination.

"What is wrong with you?" Arthur asked for the fourth time. "You are acting strangely, Guinevere. Did Merlin put you up to this? Because if he did I will string him up for being a public nuisance."

"Hush," Gwen whispered, stopping long enough to look back at him adoringly. "It won't be long now."

Arthur rolled his eyes and vowed that if his idiotic warlock were behind this ridiculousness Arthur would see to it that he regretted it, though he still had yet to discover a punishment Merlin could not magic his way out of.

Gwen finally stopped them at the door to the armory and turned to face Arthur with a smile, lifting a small finger and placing it to her lips. Arthur grinned and tried to pull her in for a kiss, but she shook her head. The king pulled back in surprise and quirked his head in confusion. What was she playing at?

As if in reply to his unspoken question, Guinevere opened the armory door and pushed him inside. The high windows in stonewalls of the room were built to optimize sunlight, but for some strange reason no sun blinked through the thin slats. Arthur's eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness and as they did he felt Gwen slip by and around him.

"Gwen," Arthur said uncertainly, watching as his wife took the hand of a shadowy figure in the dark. "What is going on?"

"I have a surprise," Gwen whispered, reaching out her other hand to him.

He took it and stepped closer to her and, as his eyes adjusted fully, he realized who the shadowed figure was. Disbelief and pain slammed into his chest like a lead weight and he bent over as if punched in the gut.

"No," he rasped out, staring up at the figure in horror. "No, you are dead! You're dead! I saw it!"

"Could a dead man do this?" Lancelot asked, his lips stretching over his lips in a morbid parody of a grin.

The once loyal knight turned to Gwen and tenderly placed his palm on her cheek, pulling her close with a hand around her waist. His wife's hand slipped from his as she angled her body to meet Lancelot's. He cupped her throat and lifted it so that her lips could entangle with his with ease. The seconds their lips touched Arthur felt something wrench loose inside him and he groaned.

Lancelot kissed her with all the passion of a dying man and when they finally parted both were breathing heavily. Gwen smiled down at her husband and touched his face, her fingers trailing over his cheeks and across his lips.

"I settled for you," she said, leaning down to whisper in his ear once more. "I never loved you like I loved him. You passed the time until Lancelot returned to me."

"No," Arthur groaned. "No, please, Gwen—"

"Can I kill him now," Lancelot asked, pulling a dagger from his belt. "Then we can truly be together, Guinevere. Just like we always wanted."

"Make it quick," Gwen yawned. "I'm tired of looking at his face every morning. Honestly, it was enough to make me sick."

"You don't mean that," Arthur shouted as Lancelot stepped towards him. "Gwen, say you don't mean that! Please!"

Gwen merely looked away from him and Arthur broke inside. Fury and hatred surged through him and he screamed, pulling his sword from his scabbard. Lancelot had just enough time to widen his eyes before his head was swept from his shoulders by the stroke of Arthur's blade.

Gwen screamed and collapsed at her fallen lover's side, clutching at his tunic even as his head rolled away from them. Arthur advanced on her, mindless with pain and betrayal, lifting his sword to strike her down.

"Do it," she screamed at him. "Kill me to! I would rather die a thousand deaths then ever touch you again."

Arthur felt his lips stretch into a horrific grin and watched as his shaking hands dropped the sword to the stones. He looked at his fingers with a sort of detached glee and flexed them tight, imagining Gwen's slender throat between them.

"Arthur," Gwen shrieked as he fell upon her. "Arthur—stop! Don't!"

Arthur laughed as his hands found her throat and squeezed, cutting off her air. She struggled beneath him and he relished in the strength of her terror like a madman relished in the hunt of his victims.

"Arthur," Gwen gasped. "Wake up…Arthur…wake…"

"Don't talk to me," Arthur shouted, shaking her. "Don't you—I'll kill you!"

Arthur wasn't sure when he felt Gwen's bones snap beneath his hands, but suddenly her struggles ceased and she collapsed against the floor. Arthur stared at her for a long time and the enormity of what he had done began to sink into him.

"Gwen," he said softly, brushing her hair back from her face. "Oh, Gwen, why did you make me hurt you? I loved you, don't you know that? I loved you and you made me do this. You made me hurt you."

Arthur heard footsteps behind him and he turned to find Merlin staring at the corpses of his two friends with all the calm of dead man. He looked up at Arthur and shook his head sadly.

"I tried to warn you," the warlock said, pursing his lips. "I told Lancelot you would react like this, but he didn't care. Gwen was worth the risk."

"You knew," Arthur asked hoarsely. "You knew this was happening?"

"Knew," Merlin repeated mildly. "Oh, Arthur, of course I knew. I was the one that brought Lancelot back. Gwen told me how unhappy she was and I knew I had to help her escape you. I understood where she was coming from, sire. Who would want to be married to a coward like you?"

"Coward," Arthur rasped, picking up his sword from the floor. "Merlin, you-"

"Coward," Merlin said again. "A failure. A disgrace. The worst king in the history of men. The list goes on and on, sire."

"Shut up," Arthur growled, advancing on his old friend. "Shut your mouth, Merlin."

"A horrible lover," Merlin went on, as if he could not hear his king. "Or so Gwen said, I wouldn't know. Gwain called you a stupid git and I'm inclined to agree."

"You are a liar," Arthur snarled, raising his blood-drenched sword in his hands. "A liar!"

"Ask anyone," Merlin shrugged. "Your people hate you, Arthur. Gwen and I were planning to overthrow you soon. I wanted to kill you right away, but Gwen she—"

"No," Arthur screamed, thrusting his blade up through Merlin's ribcage. "You are lying!"

Merlin jerked and looked down at the sword in his chest, blood dripping from his lips and onto his tunic. When he looked up again his face was covered in black lines, as if the Darkness had once again taken hold of him, and his eyes were dilated to the point that only the smallest bit of white shone through the black of his pupils. His lips were stretched back in a grimace of pain and his shaking hands reached up and took hold of the blade.

"Fool," he whispered, pulling the sword from his flesh. "Did you honestly think you could kill me? The most powerful warlock in all the land?"

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, backing away from his powerful foe. "Merlin, please—"

"It's time to wake up, Arthur Pendragon. Wake up and face what you have done!"

"Merlin!"

Merlin only smiled and threw the sword at his king with all the might of his magic behind the blade. Arthur felt it slam into him and his world shattered into blackness, the only color being that of his wife's sightless eyes.

"Guinevere," Arthur screamed, shooting upright in his bed, trying to free himself from the tangled mess of his blankets and the hands that fiercely gripped his shoulders.

"Arthur," Merlin shouted, trying to hold him still. "Arthur, it's alright. Just…calm down."

Merlin's voice permeated the terrified haze of Arthur's brain, but was almost instantly drowned by the vision of the warlock's black gaze. The king struggled against him and lashed out, feeling his fist connecting firmly with flesh. He heard a muffled grunt of impact and the hands trying to hold him down suddenly disappeared.

Arthur leapt from his bed and stood, breathing heavily and covered in sweat, trying to regain his senses. Slowly, and with great reluctance, his breathing slowed and the knot of terror in his stomach started to ease. He looked down at his feet and was shocked to find a vaguely Merlin shaped lump grunting as he tried to find a way out of the blankets Arthur had thrown off in his haste to free himself.

"Merlin," Arthur said, bending down to help his friend untangle himself. "Are you alright?"

"No," Merlin huffed, his hair shooting off every which way. "I can't believe you punched me, Arthur!"

"Let me see," Arthur said softly, taking Merlin's jaw in his hand and turning his face to the side and wincing at the nicely colored bruise that was already beginning to take shape around his eye and down across his cheekbone. "Ah. Well…stop being such a baby, Merlin. There isn't a mark on you."

"Liar," Merlin said instantly. "You've probably disfigured my face, Arthur."

"I did not disfigure your face. Don't be dramatic."

"Well, you at least bruised it."

"Merlin, women find bruises manly and attractive."

"Says who?"

"Everyone."

"That's two lies in two minutes, Arthur. You are on a roll."

"Merlin, I understand if your feminine sensibilities can't handle being called manly, but don't take it out on me."

"Prat."

"Clotpole."

"Come up with your own insults, Arthur. Disgraceful, the way you copy off somebody else's genius."

_You are a disgrace, _dream Merlin whispered in his head and Arthur winced.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered, catching his friend's look. "Are you alright?"

"The nightmares," Arthur said hoarsely. "They are getting worse, Merlin."

"Care to talk about it? Sometimes, when mine get particularly nasty, I find it helps to talk about them."

Arthur glanced over at his friend and frowned at the dark circles of exhaustion beneath his eyes. The nightmares he received as a parting gift from his time with the Darkness were getting better, but he still had them. And besides, the past week had been an almost never-ending battle for the warlock. The clean up from their encounter with the demons had only just begun and all the while Merlin had been taking care of his king, watching him with the attentive eyes of a hawk, waiting for the moment Arthur would eventually snap.

Insanity. That was what Arthur faced in the coming weeks, months, or even days. Neither of the men knew which, but both understood with absolute certainty that their journey had only just begun. The power the demon had hit Arthur with had started its work early and the king had been plagued with the most vivid nightmares of his life for the past week.

Merlin had begged his king to leave as soon as both felt well enough to travel, but Arthur kept finding reasons to put it off. There was so much work to be done and his people needed him more than ever before. They had only recently buried the last of the bodies and still had yet to begin the rebuilding of the Lower Towns. Thousands of his people were homeless and were being forced to live on the outer plains of Camelot's city borders until their dwellings could be constructed again. His people didn't complain, but he knew that the constant state of upheaval was taxing on them.

Still, Arthur knew that the time to leave was at hand and though he loathed to he had to leave for the better of his people. Nightmares were one thing, but full ranting madness was another.

"Arthur," Merlin said again. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly," Arthur replied, trying to forget the feel of Gwen's throat beneath his fingers. "Not at all, in fact."

"Alright," Merlin whispered. "Arthur…I know I've said it before but, please, sire…we should—"

"Go," Arthur finished for him. "I know."

"You do," Merlin asked, surprised. "But, just yesterday you said—"

"I know what I said," Arthur snapped. "And now I've changed my mind."

"We should tell the knights," Merlin said, getting to his feet. "Make sure they are ready to go in the morning."

"No," Arthur whispered. "The knights aren't going, Merlin."

"What? What do you mean they aren't going?"

"They can't know about this, old friend. Nobody can, but you and I."

"Arthur, you are being ridiculous. They can help us!"

"No," Arthur ordered again. "That's final, Merlin."

"So, what do you plan to tell them then?"

"About?"

"About why you are leaving, "Merlin answered, rolling his eyes.

"Oh," Arthur frowned. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Obviously, sire."

"Shut-up, Merlin."

"Arthur…they should be a part of this. At least, the Knights of the Roundtable."

"I don't want them to think any less of me."

"They won't."

"What if they do?"

"Arthur, this is the paranoia talking."

"I'm not paranoid."

"Arthur, just yesterday I caught you listening to the walls for sounds of intruders."

"I did no such thing, Merlin."

"You did, sire. And the day before that you made Guinevere walk ten feet behind you because you were convinced she had fleas."

"I could see them, Merlin. Hopping around on her dress."

"Arthur," Merlin pleaded. "Think about what you just said and ask yourself if they are the words of a rational man."

"There were fleas, Merlin."

"Arthur—"

"Alright," Arthur snapped, shooting his friend a death glare. "We can bring the knights, but nobody else."

"Not even Gwen," Merlin asked.

"Especially not Gwen," Arthur murmured. "I don't want her to see me like that, Merlin."

"And Awen?"

"Awen has her hands full here," Arthur reminded his friend.

"We could use her, Arthur. With our luck we'll probably need a healer ten minutes into the quest."

"Fine," Arthur said woodenly. "Bring her to."

"Arthur?"

"What?"

"We're going to get through this, you know that, right?"

"Right."

"Arthur, please talk to—"

"I want to be alone," Arthur blurted. "Just leave me alone for awhile, please."

"Alright," Merlin agreed, stepping back. "I'll take care of everything, Arthur. Don't you worry. Try and get some rest."

The young warlock left and Arthur was once again alone with his thoughts. Alone with his intruders and alone with his fleas. Alone with his paranoia and alone with his murderous fingers.

Alone. That was the true fear of insanity. It meant being alone and afraid, with nobody to comfort you. It meant the death of everything you knew and loved until nothing was left but you and the darkness.

He thought of his Lancelot's head as it bounced upon the ground, the man's blood as it sprayed across the room in a crimson arc. He thought of the look on Merlin's face as he ran him through with his sword and the dark, soulless gaze of the warlock as he killed him. But, most of all, Arthur thought of his wife's bones breaking beneath his hands, her wheezing cry as he'd strangled her.

Never in a million years would he think himself capable of such monstrosities, but he had already hurt one friend because of his fear. Merlin had only been bruised, true enough, but the principle of the action was the same. If he could do it once, could he not do it again?

Arthur put his face in his hands and wept.


	2. The Immortality Tango

**Author's Note: **_Was anyone else pissed about the last _**Merlin? **_I was! My boyfriend asked me why I was so grumpy and when I told him why he laughed at me and called me ridiculous. I sort of see his point…haha. Anyways, where are my reviews? Please, I need them or else nobody will read it! Thank you for all those who did review…I am very excited for this story! I have decided to stay home one more day because it is still difficult to get into Manhattan without waiting for freaking ever. So, here is the next chapter! PLEASE REVIEW!_

Merlin remembered dying. He remembered the feel of Arthur's tunic against his cheek as his king frantically carried him down from the roof of the tavern. He remembered Kilgarrah's grieving roar as his mind slowly slipped into the embrace of eternal darkness and he remembered the feel of his last breath hitching in his lungs and slipping through his lips with a gasping finality. Most of all, though, he remembered the peace that settled over him when his heart finally stopped beating; no more pain, no more grief, no more endless worry. He had proudly given his life for a man he knew would bring peace to the land and could pass on to the spirit world knowing he had kept Arthur safe.

When his world went black for the final time he had never expected to open his eyes again. Yet, open them he did and in the last place he had ever thought to find himself in. He had awoken in Avalon, a land so unlike anything he'd ever seen that Merlin was rendered speechless.

He could feel the vibrations of magic and power against his skin like crackling lightning and each time his body so much as shifted it sent a delicious thrum through his body. He was breathing heavily and his muscles were tight beneath his skin, as if he'd been running for hours, but he felt more alive than he ever had before.

He was laying in a field of grass, the rich smell of clover and meadowsweet thick in the air. The night sky shone high above him, littered with bright golden stars and giant, whirling vortexes of pinks, greens, blues and purples. He could hear a soft ringing nearby, as if the air were filled with tiny bells, and it took him a long moment to figure out that the sound was not, in fact, bells but the babble of a small waterfall into a giant pond a few yards beyond him. A slight summer breeze caressed his cheeks and Merlin shivered with the pleasures it promised. His skin shone softly with an unearthly light and he stared at his hands as, with every beat of his heart, the veins beneath his flesh flashed silver.

Finally, and with more reluctance than he cared to admit, Merlin rose up from his spot in the grass, his movements sending shimmering motes of golden light dancing within the air. He watched them dip and sway for a long moment, transfixed by the simple elegance of their beauty and when one touched upon his face he could feel the energy of it sinking into his skin like a tiny flame.

He laughed with the thrill of it all and sprinted through the tall stalks of grass, golden dust exploding around him with every powerful stride of his legs. His body felt strong and capable and no matter how fast he ran his lungs never tired. He sprinted, whooping and shouting, to the banks of the tinkling pond.

The water shone a clear blue with the same light that hovered across his skin and within its depths swam fish as large as horses, their giant fins swirling the water with slow, luxurious strokes. They had eyes the color of moonlight and came in every hue, from yellow to pink, with tiny patches of glowing silver all along the undersides of their bellies, the top sides of their fins, and over the giant hump of their back.

A waterfall rippled down the sides of a giant rock wall, tiny strands of ivy winding its way down on either side of the falling water. Orange and red flowers the size of Merlin's head decorated the ivy in bright splashes of color and wherever the flowers touched the rock beneath pulsed with energy. The pool seemed to call to him, begging him to dive deep within its depths and take strength from the feel of it against his skin.

Merlin hurriedly stripped off his shirt and boots, managing to maintain his balance even as he hopped on one foot to remove his shoe. Oh, if only Arthur could see him now. He would never be called clumsy again.

He dipped his toes in to test the temperature and found the water warm and soothing. A faint scent of crisp apples and fall leaves filled his nose and Merlin breathed deep, his lips curling into a lazy grin. He took a step back, preparing to dive into the pool's welcoming arms, but was stopped by a gentle tug of magic on his shoulder. He looked behind him, saw nothing, and rolled his eyes at his own foolishness. Jumping at shadows like a fearful guppy, he scoffed. Except there, in the afterlife, there were no shadows to fear.

He turned back to the water and prepared to dive once more, heedless to the fish's sudden rapt attention upon him or the sudden fangs that had sprouted from puckered lips. The pool called to him once more and he closed his eyes, relishing in its sweet whisper in his mind. Even as he tensed his muscles to jump he felt another tug of gentle power, but this time the pull was more insistent than the last.

"Emrys," a melodious voice called. "Heed my power, Emrys and do not jump."

Merlin turned in surprise and gasped. A woman, no older than Guinevere sat in a throne of twisted wood that Merlin had not noticed before. She was shrouded in a simple dress the color of twilight and a shining, silver cloak lay across her bare shoulders. Her eyes were golden like his own, but were slanted in catlike slits and when she smiled fangs brushed against blood-red lips. Auburn curls cascaded down her back and she idly twirled one around her finger as she studied him. A small circlet crowned her head and a torc of silver spiraled around her throat, matching those that curled up her arms. Her flesh, pale and milky, shone with an even greater intensity than his and Merlin had to squint his eyes in order to adjust to her brilliance.

"Who are you," Merlin asked quietly, staring at her uncertainly.

"I am Ceridwen," the woman answered softly, rising from her throne and padding across the grass to him with bare feet. "I am the Mother of Life and Magic, Emrys. And you…you are my most precious son."

"My Lady," Merlin gasped in awe, falling to his knees before her. "Forgive me. I did not know."

"There is nothing to forgive," Ceridwen said with a small shake of her head. "Rise, Emrys, and hear what I say."

Merlin got to his feet, but kept his head bowed. He understood now and felt like a fool for not realizing it earlier. He was not in the Underworld and he doubted very much whether the afterlife would be as peaceful as he first believed. For reasons he did not understand Merlin was in Avalon, the lands of the gods and the birthplace of magic.

"You have done well," Ceridwen whispered, placing her fingertips beneath his chin and lifting his head to meet her golden eyes. "There were those of us who believed you would fail in your destiny, but I never doubted. You have earned your place in Avalon, Emrys, if you will take it."

"Avalon," Merlin repeated. "But…mortals have no place among the gods…everyone knows that."

"You are not a mortal man," Ceridwen replied kindly. "You are a son of magic, Emrys. My son and your place is with those who share your power."

"I'm not a god," Merlin insisted. "I'm just a man, my lady. A servant of my power, but nothing more."

"A god among men," Ceridwen replied with a small smile. "You were conceived upon the planes of Avalon, my son. A child created by the gods to lead humanity upon the path destined for greatness. This is your home and, when the time is right, this is where you shall return."

"I don't understand," Merlin whispered. "What are you saying?"

"You are mine," Ceridwen announced proudly. "The human woman whom you call mother may have birthed you, but it was I who gave you breath, gave you form. You are a child of Avalon, Emrys. A prince of the gods and one day you will return to take your place among us."

"One day," Merlin repeated. "But, not now?"

"Your work is not yet finished," Ceridwen answered. "Without your guiding light, King Arthur's path is shadowed and I cannot foresee where it will lead him. Even now the demon's curse begins to fray the edges of his mind."

"Demon curse," Merlin blanched. "What demon curse?"

"You were right to fear for your friend's life tonight, Emrys. A demon's magic is not meant to kill, but to strike fear in the minds of men. He will fall into darkness if you do not save him."

"How? How do I save him? What can I do?"

"Do not fret, my child. I will give you what you need to save your precious Arthur and the lands of Camelot."

"Thank you," Merlin gasped, closing his eyes in relief. "Thank you, my lady. I don't know how I can ever repay your kindne—"

"Do not be so quick to thank," Ceridwen whispered darkly. "You have not heard my price, son of magic."

"Price," Merlin uttered, dumbstruck. "I thought you said you would help me."

"And so I shall…once you have helped me."

"How can I possibly help you?"

"You will act as my emissary, Emrys."

"Acting how?"

"I seek a dagger of great power that lies within the far reaches of Avalon. You shall retrieve it for me and your request to save King Arthur will be granted."

Merlin felt unease flutter through him and he studied the goddesses face for a long time. Could he trust her? After all, the gods were notorious for being less than truthful when it came to their human emissaries and cared very little for the lives they chose to undertake their quests. How was he any different from any other mortal Ceridwen had sent to fulfill her boons? Then again, if Ceridwen were to be believed he was not, in fact, a mortal man though he did not entirely understand what she meant by being a prince of Avalon.

There had been a great deal of debate between himself and Gaius over whether or not Merlin was entirely human. Gaius asserted that the warlock was far too powerful to be a simple human, but Merlin was so loathe to think of himself as anything else that he argued relentlessly in favor of his mortality. He and Arthur had even discussed the topic at length, but his king was still too new the idea of magic to really understand how a man could be anything other than human and had dismissed the idea of his friend's possible immortality as nothing more than wishful thinking, refusing to believe Merlin did not wish to be anything but human.

Regardless of whether he was immortal or not, the fact remained that Ceridwen could be attempting to trick him. She seemed honest enough, but when it came to the gods one could never be entirely certain. Their beauty and power often hid their deceit, but the deities were just as greedy and corrupt as their human emissaries and felt little loyalty to the world they ruled over.

Ceridwen's cat-like slits narrowed and her golden eyes shone down on him with all the intensity of a hawk on a mouse. Her fangs were bared in a feral grin and Merlin shrunk away from her, fear gnawing at his belly. He had not meant to show his terror, but she had changed from a beautiful silver queen to a powerful huntress so quickly that he could not help himself.

"You question my honesty," Ceridwen hissed. "I have shone you nothing but kindness in my home, yet you cringe away from me as if I have raised my hand against you. Why, Emrys? What reason do you have to distrust me so?"

Merlin felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth and when he tried to answer his words caught in his throat. He felt her gaze hot upon his skin and he trembled, closing his eyes so that he did not have to look upon her face.

"Answer me," Ceridwen ordered, shoving so much power into her words that Merlin was forced to his knees.

Merlin shook his head, unable to speak. Ceridwen hissed in fury and Merlin groaned as the goddess's anger burned in his veins. Didn't she understand? Didn't she see? How could he trust something that acted with such rage? With such power?

His blood boiled and Merlin cried out, trying to form the words that would make her stop. Why couldn't he die and be left in peace like everyone else? Why did he always have to give more than he had to give? His own anger and pain rose within him and before Merlin knew what he was doing he had regained his feet, straining against the power that threatened to slam him down again.

"Stop," Merlin shouted, magic pulsing from him in a giant wave.

Flame erupted across the sky in a wave of heat and Merlin felt his heart lurch as the power left him. The magic pressing against him instantly eased and the heat within his veins died down to a soft warmth. Ceridwen stared at him, head cocked to the side, and smiled.

"Your power is great," she said simply. "You will be perfect for the task I have in mind."

"You can forget it," Merlin snarled. "Find another human puppet because it isn't me. Not after that little display."

"You would be wise to reconsider," Ceridwen frowned. "I will not offer again, Emrys."

"Good," Merlin growled. "That means I won't have to refuse you again."

"You would let Camelot and its king fall?"

"What?"

"Heed my words, Emrys. If you refuse my quest then all you hold dear will be destroyed. Everything you have worked for, everyone you have come to love will burn in the light of Arthur's insanity."

"No," Merlin replied, shaking his head. "You don't know Arthur like I do. He won't let that happen."

"He is a mortal man," Ceridwen said softly. "He is weak and will fall without your help. You will see."

"You don't know him," Merlin repeated. "Arthur is not weak. He's the strongest man I know and would never hurt his people. He'd die before allowing that."

"And you would let him it seems," Ceridwen whispered. "If Arthur falls then so to will Camelot. They are one and the same, you see. The destruction of one will inevitably bring about the destruction of the other."

"What can I do," Merlin demanded. "I'm no longer part of that world. How can I save him?"

"Fulfill my quest," Ceridwen said. "Give your word to me and I shall send you back among mortal men, my child. And when you have returned the dagger to me I shall give you a vial of my tears. I have not given such a gift to a mortal man since the beginning of time, Emrys. You would do well to take it."

"The tears will save him?"

"And the witch if that is what you desire."

"Morgana," Merlin whispered, only now remembering the woman that had sacrificed herself for him. "She's dead?"

"Not dead," Ceridwen replied. "Lost within her nightmares. A fate more terrible than death."

"And these tears will bring her back as well?"

"Aye."

"What's the catch?"

"The catch?"

"Yes, the catch. You make this sound too easy, my lady. All I have to do is fetch a dagger? No, there is more to this than what you are telling me. What are you going to use the dagger for? Where is it hidden? Whom does it belong to?"

"Curiosity is a fool's trait, Emrys. Do not stick your nose in places it does not belong."

"You said I'm one of you," Merlin insisted. "If that is true then what do you have to lose by telling me? You asked why I distrust you, but you give me no reason to do otherwise. You hedge around my questions and attempt to use my fear of you to control me. That is not the actions of someone with nothing to hide."

"You fear me," Ceridwen asked, studying him intently.

"I fear your power," Merlin said humbly. "And I fear your words."

"My words?"

"Camelot's fate…and my own."

"Your fate is here, boy."

"And that is what scares me."

"Why?"

"I have never wished to be more than I am, my lady. My whole life I have been content with the powers I was given, with the path I had chosen. How can I be anything different than what I was?"

"You were born with a mortal body, Emrys, but your soul is not mortal. Your soul was born within Avalon and it is the soul that makes up the man, not the body he resides in."

"I don't understand."

"Understanding comes with time and time is one thing you lack."

"Then tell me. Why do you need the dagger?"

"Very well," Ceridwen sighed. "The dagger belongs to Arawn and lies within his realm of Annwfn."

"Let me see if I understand you correctly," Merlin blurted. "You want me to steal a dagger from a war god? How exactly am I supposed to accomplish that?"

"With the gifts we have given you," Ceridwen replied. "Emrys, you were created to be warrior prince, weaker than the gods, but free to act of your own volition. Your power may not be as strong as Arawn's, but you have something he never will."

"What's that?"

"A heart," Ceridwen whispered. "A soul. Such gifts grant you a strength Arawn could never hope to destroy."

"Why do you want it? What good would it do you?"

"Arawn seeks war," Ceridwen answered. "He wishes to command the powers of Avalon and rule on his own. If he continues on his path to dominance there will be a great war upon the Plains of the Gods. I wish to stop this from happening."

"Why?"

"Long ago, when mankind was just beginning, there was another war among the gods. We squabbled and fought, killed and maimed and all the while the mortals we had created paid the price for our petty battles. Earthquakes consumed the earth, droughts and famine swept through the cities, plagues left thousands dying in the streets. After the war was over we made a pact to never battle against one another again. We have all done our part to keep this truce, but Arawn threatens all in his lust for power."

"And stealing his dagger will prevent this from happening?"

"His power lies within the blade. With it gone he will become mortal and we can manage him from there."

"So, I travel through Avalon, into the Underworld and just snatch the dagger from his hands? Somehow I don't see this going down as smoothly as it sounds."

"Arawn keeps the dagger by his side at all times," Ceridwen explained. "In order to retrieve it from him you will have to do battle against him."

"Me," Merlin croaked. "Battle a god? No, you've obviously got the wrong man. How can I possibly defeat a god of war?"

"The power of your soul," Ceridwen said gently. "And with the help of the man you call king."

"Arthur," Merlin asked. "What can Arthur do?"

"The mortal man will lend you the strength you need to do what must be done," Ceridwen replied. "He will keep you on your path and remind you of who you are when times are at their darkest."

"I can't fight a god," Merlin repeated.

"Do not underestimate your gifts," Ceridwen warned. "You are far more powerful than even you realize."

"What happens after? When I bring the dagger back to you?"

"I give you what I have promised you, Emrys. A vial of my tears and the cure to Arthur's curse."

"And Morgana as well?"

"If that is what you wish."

"And what about me?"

"You?"

"What happens to me?"

"You will take your place among the gods of Avalon," Ceridwen replied.

"You mean…my time with Arthur will be done?"

"Yes, my child. Your time among mortal men will be complete."

"Oh."

"Does this not please you?"

"I—don't…things were just beginning to go well."

"All things come to an end, Emrys. You knew that you and Arthur would not be joined forever."

"Yes, but…"

"But?"

"I expected to have more time," Merlin whispered. "How can I leave him? How can I say goodbye?"

"Do not fret on it, Emrys. That time has not yet come…you will see him again."

Merlin frowned and closed his eyes against the growing sense of panic in his chest. He couldn't leave Arthur, he just couldn't. The very idea of being without the man left a hole in his heart and stole the breath from his lungs. Regardless of whatever he may be within the world of Avalon he would give it all up to spend his days on earth at his king's side.

"Time grows short," Ceridwen said. "Have you made your choice, Emrys?"

"I will do as you ask," Merlin rasped. "I will fulfill your quest."

"I had hoped you would," Ceridwen smiled. "You will not regret this day, son of magic."

"How do I get back to Avalon once I'm in the mortal world?"

"There is a gate," Ceridwen answered. "In the far reaches of Albion. You must travel there and unlock it."

"Unlock it," Merlin repeated. "With what?"

"This," Ceridwen whispered.

She held out her slim hand and Merlin cautiously slipped his own hand into hers. She gripped it tightly and brought her lips to his wrist, smiling as he tensed against her.

"Do not be afraid," she whispered, even as her lips brushed against his skin.

Something burned harshly for a long moment and Merlin tried to pull away, but Ceridwen held him tight. Her mouth was still against his flesh and Merlin caught the bright flash of teeth an instant before her fangs sunk into his wrist. He screamed as blinding pain bit into him and wrenched away from her, but Ceridwen wrapped an arm around his waist even as his knees buckled.

"Please," he groaned. "Stop…please."

The burning in his wrist eased as she released him and he crumpled to the grass, holding his aching hand to his chest. She wiped his blood from her lips and sunk to her knees beside him, smiling as he jerked away from her.

"I have given you the key," Ceridwen whispered. "Look, Emrys."

Merlin glanced down at his wrist and watched in amazement as the blood and puncture wounds disappeared, leaving a glowing silver rune etched into his skin. He touched it and the rune pulsed with power, leaving him gasping and lightheaded with the thrill of it.

"What did you do," Merlin gasped.

"I have marked you as my emissary," Ceridwen explained. "You will be allowed passage through the gates of Avalon."

"And Arthur?"

"He would never survive such a branding," Ceridwen whispered solemnly. "He is not of this world, Emrys, and such magic would kill him. He must remain at your side or else he will be lost."

"Right," Merlin said. "By my side…no problem."

"And Emrys?"

"Yes?"

"Do not fall victim to the beauty of this land."

"What do you mean?"

"This world is a deceiving place, child. There is great danger lurking for those who do not belong here."

"But…I thought…I do belong here."

"You will, in time. Your power, while in this realm, is far greater than it could ever be upon the mortal plain, but until you have ascended among us you will still be in danger."

"Then why don't I ascend now?"

"You cannot," Ceridwen snapped. "Once you have taken your place among us you will no longer be free to act as emissary. You would be bound to the same laws that keep me from stealing the dagger myself. By doing so I would begin the very war I seek to stop."

"Everything is always so damn complicated," Merlin huffed.

"Remember," Ceridwen warned again. "Do not be fooled by our beauty. There is danger lurking even within the most beautiful of places."

"I'll remember," Merlin said quietly.

"Then go," Ceridwen whispered. "Return to the mortal world, Emrys and fulfill your promise to me."

Merlin attempted to open his mouth to ask her more questions, but he suddenly felt as if a great weight sat upon his chest and he could not draw in air. The weight grew and Merlin collapsed, darkness eating away at his vision. He felt his magic flare brightly before receding again, weakening as he was forced through the barrier between the mortal and supernatural worlds.

The next thing he knew he was waking to a desperate kiss from Awen, her tears upon his cheeks and her hands cradling his head against her own. He woke to a world he'd thought he left behind and a king who he would be forced to leave once their task was complete. He thought, perhaps, that his time with Ceridwen had been a dream, but a quick glance at the glowing rune on his wrist dashed the thought away.

How was he supposed to leave that which he held most dear? It would be the same as losing them forever, wouldn't it? He would save Arthur and Camelot, but what good would it do him if he couldn't be there to see it? Further more, how was he supposed to tell the king?

Even now, as they prepared for their journey into a world Merlin barely understood but was somehow a part of, he could not bring himself to tell his friend about his inevitable fate. He tried to convince himself that he was not hiding from his king, but sparing the man from heartache in his already weakened mental state. What do you say to a man who has stood by you and gone to hell and back to keep you safe? What do you say to a friend who sacrificed everything they knew to make your life better?

How do you say goodbye to a friend? A brother?

Well, the answer was easy enough for Merlin. There would be no goodbye. No farewell. Merlin would find a way to make sure of that. How? He did not know, but he would do anything he had to remain at Arthur's side. He had given too much of himself to not see Arthur through to the end. Regardless of when that end would come and regardless of what it would cost him to do so.


	3. A Knight's Tale

**Author's Note: **_Hello all and welcome to the third chapter of _A Path to Insanity!_ I hope you have all enjoyed the story so far! I would remind my new readers that you really MUST read the first two stories before this or you will never understand what is going on. Anyways, thanks to Merlini Barba for such a wonderful conversation and remember to please REVIEW because people won't read it if you aren't inclined to review. By the way, this last episode of Merlin pissed me off nearly as much as the one before. I still love the show, but I am wondering where they are going to take this. Thanks so much and enjoy!_

Percival had never asked for a life of excitement and adventure. He had certainly never asked to be a Knight of Camelot. In the years before Arthur, he'd been content to spend his days as an apprentice stonemason to his father Merek who, if such a thing were possible, had been even larger than his son. The two had made a name for themselves within the villages and even some of the surrounding towns as honest, hardworking men as strong as an ox and able to work twice as fast.

His life had been simple and repetitive, but Percival liked it that way. He was not a man who needed riches to keep him happy and he had very little inclination to see the world beyond his home. It wasn't that he was scared to travel beyond the borders of his land or that that he was a shut-in of any kind. He just preferred to spend time with the villagers he knew and the family he loved.

The morning everything was stolen from him had been like any other. He'd awoken at dawn to ominous skies the color of slate, but had wearily rolled from his small bunk with a smile on his face. He could hear his mother and two energetic younger sisters, Arabella and Margaret, fixing breakfast in the room adjacent to his own and his stomach growled angrily as the scent of salted pork sizzling in the hearth filled his nose. Pork was a rare delicacy within their humble household due to the meat's high cost and his mother, Thea, usually saved it for special occasions.

Pulling his favorite brown tunic over his head, Percival lumbered into the tiny kitchen and sniffed appreciatively at the cooking meat. He could feel his mouth water as the juices crackled and he leaned down to sample a tiny cooked morsel from the edges of the pan.

"Mama is going to throw a fit if she catches you sneaking," Margaret said absently, glancing up at him briefly from her chair in the corner before continuing her work on the new dress she was stitching.

Margaret had only just turned sixteen and had insisted to her mother that if she were ever going to get married she would need to wear a proper dress in town. In Percival's opinion the last thing his darling sister needed was a pretty dress to flaunt her already painful beauty. The girl had locks the color of gold and large eyes a violent shade of sea foam green. A strong yet lithe frame filled out whatever she chose to wear quite nicely and when she smiled men had been known to faint. Percival had been in a number of altercations at the tavern due to crude comments about the way his sister filled out her bodice and consistently felt like he was some sort of secret protector for his sister's virtue. A virtue that Margaret sometimes flaunted with all the wanton frivolity of a tavern wench.

Percival loved Margaret, but he had never spent much time with her. Her twin, Arabella, was a different matter entirely. The woman was as different from Margaret as she could possibly be, though they shared the same outer beauty. Arabella preferred tunics and trousers to dresses and was never scared of getting her hands dirty. Her golden hair was cut short and if it wasn't for her womanly face and frame Percival honestly believed she would be mistaken for a man. They had spent days as young children romping through the forests around their home bringing back all sorts of unnatural creatures as pets and delighting in the way Margaret squealed when they slipped them into her sheets at night.

"Where's Arabella," Percival asked his sister, ignoring her previous warning.

"How should I know," Margaret sniffed. "Do I look like her keeper?"

"No," Percival grinned, turning back to the sizzling pan. "You look like a rat having a bad hair day."

"Very funny," Margaret sighed, watching him lean over to take a bite. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"What mother doesn't know won't hurt her," Percival replied, reaching out his fingers to grasp a piece of pork.

He felt a shadow creep up behind him and he ducked his head between his shoulders in preparation for the blow he knew was coming. Sure enough, as she had almost every morning since he was tall enough to reach the pan, his mother gently smacked him upside his head with the palm of her hand.

"Thief," she clucked sternly, nudging him aside with a gentle push of her hip. "Honestly, between you and your father I don't know how I manage to get a single meal on the table."

"Natural talent," Percival grinned, leaning down to kiss his mother on the cheek. She accepted it gracefully, but narrowed her eyes at him as he pulled back and pointed at him with the grease-covered prongs of her cooking fork.

"Don't think you'll be winning me over with gestures of affection," Thea warned. "You'll wait for breakfast like everyone else. Even the mutt knows better than to sample a masterpiece before it is fully prepared."

Rowena, the mutt in question, raised her head and whined, tail thumping hopefully against the floor. Thea took one look at the canine's soulful brown eyes and her expression softened. She sighed and clucked her tongue, reaching around her with her fork and spearing a particularly juicy and tender piece of pork with the prongs.

"Damn mutt," Thea cursed even as she held the morsel out for the pup. "I don't know how you talked us into letting you keep her, Percy."

"Mother," Percival groaned. "Please, don't call me Percy."

"And why not? It's a perfectly respectable name."

"For a girl, mother. I'm a man."

"Oh, you are, are you?"

"Yes," Margaret answered, coming to sit beside Percival at the table. "Don't you know, mama? Percy has chest hair and everything."

"Margaret Thatcher," Thea snapped. "What on earth do you know about chest hair?"

"She watches Asher preen his every morning," Arabella giggled as she came in the house, cheeks flushed with the morning chill. "He makes quite a show of it, he does. Even wears his tunic open a bit so all the girls can see."

"I do not," Margaret protested, throwing her twin an evil glare.

"Does to," Arabella insisted. "I've seen you."

"Isn't Asher the blacksmith's son," Thea questioned, serving her three children a bowl of mashed wheat.

"Yes," Margaret replied. "And he's ever so charming, mama. He asked me to this year's May Festival and I would so love to—"

"Absolutely not," Thea said sternly. "No daughter of mine would be caught dead going to the May Festival. Nothing but a bunch of brutes and cads in attendance."

"I think that is sort of the point," Arabella said absently. "It isn't called the Lusty Month of May for its innocence and purity, you know."

"Ach," Thea hissed, throwing her hands up in the air. "Gods, I understand that my children are all but grown, but please…allow a mother to think otherwise. There is no way I am allowing you to attend that festival, Margaret. And Arabella, so help me, if I ever hear the word lusty come out of your mouth again I'm liable to die of shock."

Percival and Arabella eyed each other over the table and grinned. Margaret continued to badger their mother even as the woman began to serve them the pork Percival had so desperately been waiting for.

"Lusty, lusty, lusty," Arabella mouthed to him as Thea served her.

Percival snorted into his wheat in amusement and sent it splattering all over Margaret. The young woman's dainty mouth opened in a giant 'o' of surprise and her eyes widened in disgust. Arabella cackled loudly and almost fell off her chair.

"Disgusting," Margaret shrieked. "Percival, look at what you did to my dress!"

"Sorry," Percival muttered, trying not to smile at Arabella's wild cackles.

"Don't worry big brother," Arabella laughed. "It's an improvement. People will be so preoccupied with her dress that they'll forget to look at her ugly face."

"Mother," Margaret whined, wiping gruel off her dress as best she could. "Do you see what I have to put up with?"

"Let us pray the gods grant you the will to persevere, darling," Thea said mildly, setting a loaf of fresh baked bread on the table.

The door opened once more and Percival shivered against the cold air that rushed in as if desperate to warm itself by the fire. Merek's ruddy face peered at them from the doorway as he struggled to remove his boots.

"What's all this ruckus," Merek boomed. "You're liable to scare off the horses with all this chatter."

"Your daughter wishes to attend the festival this year," Thea informed her husband as the giant man sat beside Percival.

"Daddy," Margaret said sweetly. "I'm sixteen now, as you know, and—"

"It's up to your mother," Merek interrupted instantly.

"But—"

"No 'buts', Margaret," Merek said firmly. "If your mother says no then that is final."

"Thank you," Thea sniffed. "You see, Margaret, your father agrees with me."

"No he doesn't," Margaret argued. "He just said it was up to you."

"Margaret," Merek said warningly.

"The only reason she wants to go is because of the young prince of Camelot," Arabella informed the table.

"Be quiet," Margaret snapped at her sister. "Nobody asked you for your opinion, Arabella."

"It's true, isn't it?"

"What's this about the prince of Camelot," Merek asked, chewing his pork thoughtfully.

"Nothing, father. Don't listen to her."

"Oh," Arabella sighed. "Margaret thinks Prince Arthur is dreamy. A regular knight in shining armor."

"And when have you seen the young prince Arthur," Thea asked, finally sitting down to eat.

"He and his Knights of Camelot rode through town a few months ago," Arabella explained. "On a hunting trip, I think. If you ask me he looks much too pretty to be very good at handling a bow."

"You're pretty," Percival pointed out to his younger sister. "And you handle a bow quite well."

"I'm a girl," Arabella sniffed. "We aren't held to the same standards."

"You liked his servant," Margaret said scathingly. "The scrawny, dark haired one that fell off his horse."

"Did not," Arabella snapped, blushing.

"Did to," Margaret argued. "You couldn't take your eyes off him. I watched you."

"He was nice," Arabella said defensively. "Unlike your precious Prince Arthur who said all those nasty things to him."

"He called him an oaf," Margaret replied. "The servant fell off his horse, Arabella. Clearly, the prince's opinion of the man isn't very far off."

Arabella fell silent and Margaret grinned at her apparent victory. Percival knew, however, that while Margaret might think she had won their argument Arabella would find a way to get back at her. Perhaps she would catch one of the small snakes that frequented their garden and slip it into one of Margaret's drawers when the girl wasn't looking.

The rest of breakfast had passed peacefully although it was clear that Margaret had not dropped the subject of the festival and would pounce upon her weaker willed father when the moment was right. Percival and Merek had kissed each of the women on the cheek before departing into the cooling autumn morning.

"We'll need to take the path through the forests," Merek told his son as they rode off. "A host of King Cenred's men have been spotted on the roads."

"Do they mean us harm," Percival asked uneasily.

"I do not believe so," Merek answered. "Cenred's conflict is with Camelot…not us. Still, I do not wish to give them reason to stop us."

Oh, if only Percival had listened to the writhing snakes in his gut. He had rode beside his father in silence to the grounds of a rich lord who wished for a hunting lodge at the edge of the forest, but his thoughts were racing.

He had heard stories of Cenred and his men. Shop vendors who traveled the roads selling their wares spoke his name in muted whispers as if terrified that the mere mention of the man would bring his wrath down upon him. He was merciless, or so they said; a man who cared very little for the sanctity of life and for the unspoken rules of engagement. What Cenred wanted…Cenred got.

Still, as father and son set to work Percival forgot all about his worries and put any excess tension he may have felt into his work. He lifted stones twice his weight as if they were infants and with every strain of his muscles, every stretch of his tendons, he felt his concern ease.

Merek and Percival worked until the sun was low in the sky and were about to head home for supper when they heard the sound of hooves striking the dirt. The men turned and watched with weary eyes as a small group of Cenred's men came galloping through the woods towards them.

Each man was dressed in supple chain mail and smoke blackened metal armor. Their horses foamed at the mouth and pulled on their reigns as if they feared the men seated upon them and Percival swallowed nervously. The man at the front of the group held up his fist and the soldiers behind him stopped, their horses kicking up dirt as they slid to a halt.

Merek eyed the men's weapons nervously and stepped so that he was standing slightly in front of his son. The leading man slowly dropped from his horse and removed his helmet, dark stringy hair spilling over his shoulders like writhing worms.

"King Cenred sends his greetings," the man said with a feral grin. "My name is Lord Carac and I am looking for able bodied men to serve under the great flag of Cenred."

"We have no interest in war," Merek responded evenly. "We are simple men, my lord. I am a man of stone…not weaponry."

"I said nothing of wielding weapons," Carac replied. "A great army is made up of more than swordsman. You would be paid handsomely for your services."

"Not interested," Merek said again.

"You would deny your king?"

"He is not my king," Merek replied. "These are King Lot's lands and it is to him that I give my allegiance."

"You insult King Cenred with your defiance," Carac spat. "He has offered you an opportunity for greatness and riches and you turn your nose at him."

"I assure you," Merek answered quietly. "I mean no offense to your king."

"And what of your son," Carac asked after a moment, turning his dark eyes on Percival. "What does he say to our king's generous offer?"

"I am afraid I must refuse as well," Percival answered.

"I see," Carac whispered. "There is nothing I can offer you that would dissuade you otherwise?"

"Nothing," Percival said.

"A shame," Carac said, rubbing his forehead. "Truly…an awful shame. Still, if you will not change your mind then…" He sighed once and turned to glance at one of the men still on horseback. "Ulfric, see to it that our young friend here sees the error of his ways."

The man named Ulfric nodded once and drew his bow, easing an arrow into the notch and drawing the string back. Percival's eyes widened as the weapon was pointed at his father's chest, but before he could even cry out the arrow had been released. There was a dull, wet thump of impact as the shaft embedded itself deep within Merek's chest and blood splattered the dirt as the head erupted from the other side.

Percival's scream caught in his throat as he watched his father slump to the ground in horror. He wasn't sure how he managed to move quickly enough to get beneath the man before his head hit the dirt, but he did. He could feel his father's warm blood seeping into his tunic and he felt sick.

"Percival," Merek coughed. "Percy…so proud…proud of you."

"Father," Percival groaned. "We'll get you help…I just…please hold on…I—"

He looked up at the men on horseback, pleading for them to help him, but they would not budge. His father thrashed weakly in his arms and Percival looked back at him.

"Protect them," Merek gasped out. "Promise…promise me, Percy. You'll protect your sisters…and tell…tell them I love…tell them…"

"Father," Percival cried as the man gasped once and did not breathe in. "Father, please don't leave me! Father!"

Merek did not answer and Percival howled his grief and fury at the slate colored sky. He screamed and sobbed, clutching the dead man he once called father to his chest. The men in armor stood watching him quietly and Carac's smile grew wide.

"You," Percival said hoarsely, setting his father gently to the ground and standing. "You did this. Why?"

"You will learn," Carac answered defiantly. "Cenred will not be denied by the son of a stonemason."

"He was harmless to you," Percival screamed. "He wanted peace and you killed him!"

"YOU killed him," Carac spat. "It was not I who insulted the king…not I who defied him."

"Harmless," Percival repeated, staring at his beloved father's corpse. "He was harmless."

"I will make my offer once more," Carac said, grinning. "Will you serve the armies of Cenred?"

"Never," Percival spat.

"As you wish," Carac sighed. "Ulfric, kill him."

Percival watched with calm eyes as Ulfric raised his bow once more, bending down to pick a stone the size of a watermelon from the heap of rock behind him. He grinned defiantly when Ulfric notched his arrow, but before the man could release the string Percival hurled the rock at the man's face. The stone connected with a loud crunch of armor and bone followed shortly by a wet scream as Ulfric's helmet crumpled inwards, crushing the man's skull beneath its weight.

For reasons unknown to him, Percival could not remember the altercation that followed. Perhaps his mind was trying to protect him from the knowledge of what a man was capable of when fueled by grief and rage. He knew he killed them, every last one of them, but to this day he did not understand how he had managed to do so. There had been thirteen of them, not including Ulfric who he had taken by surprise, and, as far as he knew, not even a skilled fighter like Arthur could take on thirteen men single handedly.

He remembered the rock striking Ulfric's face with sickening clarity, but after that everything was a blur. The next thing he knew he was riding as fast and as hard as he could towards his village, heart pounding against his chest, and tunic covered in blood that did not belong to him. He could see smoke rising into the sky from the direction of his village and he felt fear clench his stomach so harshly that he had to stop to throw up, the salted pork acidic in his throat.

He arrived to find his village burning, every house ablaze with fire. He screamed in fury, but there was no one left to hear him. Every man, woman, and child had either fled or died there.

Cenred's men had stacked the bodies of the villagers they had slaughtered in the center of town, their blood combining to make streams of red that trickled through the grass. It was there that Percival found his mother. It was in the heap of dead that he saw his two precious sisters for the last time, golden hair dyed scarlet and sea foam eyes opened wide and unseeing. It was there that Percival died, cradling his family to him with the desperation of a drowning man. He would not move from their side, even as they began to rot beneath the sun, even as Rowena limped towards him, tail between her legs, and pulled on his trouser leg and whined piteously.

Hours passed, maybe even days, and still Percival did not move. His mind grew fevered and his lips grew chapped with thirst. He rambled and raved at the crows who dared feed upon the corpses and sobbed continuously as, despite his best efforts, the crows fed anyways.

Perhaps he would have died there, sick from grief and exposure to the elements. For years afterward, he wished he had, but it seemed fate had other plans for him.

It was Arthur who found him, coming to the aid of people that were not his responsibility as, Percival would come to discover, he always had. Years later, as Percival looked down upon the men from the top of a ditch, he would recognize the prince as his savior. The king didn't seem to make the connection between the quiet ox of a man and the ranting, half-crazed stonemason he had saved those few years ago. He had never told Arthur this and doubted he ever would. There were some things that a man keeps secret, even from his king, although he sometimes wondered if Gaius had not made the connection.

He had left Camelot in great health, but his mind was lost to the horrors of that day. He wandered the lands, unsure of his path, unsure of much of anything. It wasn't until he met Lancelot that Percival started to see a light in the never ending darkness. The older man had seemed to adopt him and when Merlin's plea for assistance reached them it had not taken much to convince him to return to Camelot with him. Of course, the fact that they would be fighting Cenred was not lost on him and he vowed that if he ever saw the king he would exact a vengeance so horrible the act would become something of myth.

If he had been told then that his actions would earn him a spot within Arthur's most trusted men he would have laughed himself silly. But, after nearly three years of serving at the man's side, Percival could honestly say he was glad he had. The Knights had become a sort of second family to him and had helped him discover who he was once more. He would do anything for the king and his men. Which was why, when Merlin came to them to explain the king's failing hold on reality, that Percival all but jumped at the chance to assist them.

"So," Gwain said softly, trying not to smile. "Let me see if I understand you correctly. The Princess, that's OUR Princess, is losing his marbles."

"Yes," Merlin sighed. "You don't have to look so gleeful about it, Gwain. This is serious."

"Surely," Gwain grinned. "But…what are we talking about here? Is he going to start talking to make believe people? Dress up in frilly clothes and call himself Queen?"

"That is our king you are talking about," Leon snapped. "Show some respect, Gwain."

"I don't know what we're all concerned about," Gwain huffed. "Merlin will put him right, won't you?"

"You aren't listening," Merlin snapped. "This isn't something I can fix, Gwain. What is happening to Arthur is caused by demon magic and if we don't do something it will destroy him."

"Oh," Gwain whispered. "I…sorry."

"So," Percival asked. "What is our plan of action?"

"There is a cure," Merlin answered, rubbing a weary hand over his forehead. "But, it will not be easy to obtain. In fact, it will be downright dangerous."

"Perfect," Gwain growled with relish. "Danger is my middle name, after all."

"I thought it was Lionel," Percival grinned, dodging a half-hearted punch from his friend.

"Merlin," Elyan said quietly. "What's the plan?"

"When I died," Merlin answered. "I went to a place called Avalon. It is the land of the gods, for those of you who are unfamiliar with it. I was approached by the goddess Ceridwen and—"

"Oho," Gwain grinned. "Approached by a goddess, Merlin? Was she pretty?"

Awen, the Fair Folk woman holding Merlin's hand, frowned at Gwain from across the table and the knight's grin widened. She rolled her eyes, but inched closer to her warlock.

"Let the man speak," Leon ordered.

"Thank you, Leon. As I was saying, I was approached by the goddess Ceridwen with a quest. If we fulfill the quest she will grant me the power necessary to heal Arthur and save Camelot."

"And what is the nature of this quest," Percival asked.

"We have to steal Arawn's dagger," Merlin replied softly.

"The war god," Gwain exclaimed. "Merlin, you are as crazy as Arthur is! We have no hopes of achieving such a thing and even if we did, why would we?"

Percival watched with concern as the young warlock attempted to explain all that had happened to him within the lands of Avalon. He understood very little of it, but understanding mattered little to him. He trusted Merlin and his judgment and if the king's second in command believed them capable of defeating a war god then so did he. It was as simple as that.

"As always," Percival said quietly. "You have my sword, Merlin. We'll save Arthur or die trying."

"My loyalty to you and our king is not a question," Leon whispered. "I will have your back."

"As will I," Elyan said.

"Well," Gwain grinned. "It's not like I have anything better to do."

Awen rolled her eyes, but Merlin snorted softly. It was Gwain being Gwain.

"Thank you," Merlin said softly. "You have no idea what your loyalty means to us. If Arthur were here, he would—"

"Merlin," Gwen cried, throwing the court room doors open, eyes wide and fearful. "Merlin, come quick!"

"What is it," Merlin asked, getting to his feet. "What's wrong, Guinevere?"

"It's Arthur," Gwen sobbed. "There is something horribly wrong, Merlin. He's…he's…"

"Gwen," Merlin said quietly. "Calm down, my lady. What is he doing?"

"I came in to check on him," Gwen explained, gasping for breath. "I woke him up and, at first, everything seemed fine. But…then he…gods, Merlin he got so angry. I've never seen him like that! He kept screaming about ghosts in the walls."

"Did he hurt you," Merlin asked sharply.

"No," Gwen replied. "No, he didn't touch me, Merlin. But, he's—"

Their queen trailed off as the sound of Arthur's ranting echoed down the hall. His footsteps drew closer until the king himself was slamming through the door, sword drawn. His face was distorted into an expression of pure hatred and Percival found himself standing in case his strength was needed to keep his friend from hurting someone.

"Merlin," Arthur shouted. "Where the hell are you, you useless man?"

"Arthur," Merlin frowned, stepping forward. "Arthur, I'm right here. There is no reason to shout."

"Shout," Arthur asked with an awful grin. "Who is shouting, Merlin?"

"You for one," Gwain muttered.

Arthur's eyes flickered to the knight's and Gwain shrugged. The king raised his sword and took a step forward, but Merlin stopped him with a hand.

"Arthur," the warlock said. "Stop."

"Who are you to order me about," Arthur asked quietly. "I don't ever remember giving you permission to be here, Merlin."

Merlin blinked and his mouth dropped open. It was clear that the warlock was as surprised at the new turn of events as the rest of them.

"Sire," Merlin whispered cautiously. "You…well, do you remember…what is my position in the royal court?"

"My servant," Arthur said at once. "You've always been my servant, Merlin. And a bloody horrible one at that."

"Arthur," Merlin said, stepping towards his friend. "Try to remember…I'm not your servant anymore. I—"

Whatever Merlin was going to say was drowned out by Arthur's growl of anger. The king neatly stepped forward and slammed the hilt of his blade into the warlock's stomach. Merlin doubled over as the air was forced from his lungs and the crazed king struck him in the face with his gauntlet. The young man collapsed backwards and stuck the side of his head against the corner of the table. He crumpled to the floor and did not get up again, a puddle of blood beginning to form beneath his temple.

"Arthur," Gwen cried. "Arthur, stop it!"

"Don't you dare address me," Arthur screamed at the collapsed man. "I know what you are, sorcerer."

Awen tried to go the aid of her warlock, but Arthur stopped her from approaching him with his sword. She raised her hands and took a step backwards, but her eyes were trained on Merlin and the blood bubbling from the gash in his head.

"Please," she whispered. "Arthur, please…just let me help him."

"Quiet," Arthur shouted, twisting handfuls of hair in his fists. "I need to think and I can't think with all this talking."

"Arthur," Percival said quietly, stepping towards his king. "Listen to me, Arthur. I know what you are going through. I've been there myself. It feels like the whole world is screaming at you at the same time. I understand, Arthur. But, you've got to shut it out."

"I can't hear myself think," Arthur groaned. "They are all in here and they all want something."

"You are stronger than they are," Percival whispered. "Think, Arthur. Remember who you are."

"I'm the king," Arthur rasped. "I'm the king and this is Camelot. And…Merlin, he's…oh gods, what have I done?"

It was as if a switch had been flicked inside Arthur's brain. One moment, the king was staring at Percival with the eyes of a madman and the next Arthur was himself again. His eyes flickered around him until he found his friend and any color he'd had drained from his face.

"What have I done," he said again, crawling on hands and knees to Merlin's side. "Merlin, oh gods, Merlin what did I do to you?"

"Let me see," Awen said gently, pushing Arthur's bloodstained hands away. She whispered something beneath her breath and the large gash on Merlin's temple closed, leaving only a faint bruise behind.

Merlin shifted slightly and groaned. His eyes flickered open, slightly unfocused. He found Awen's face first and reached a hand up to brush her cheek then found Arthur's and frowned.

"You hit me," he said quietly.

"I didn't…Merlin, I am so sorry," Arthur gasped. "I don't know what came over me. I—"

"It's alright," Merlin soothed, sitting up woozily. "It wasn't your fault, Arthur. But, you have to admit…I was right."

"Right about what?"

"I said we'd need a healer ten minutes into the quest," Merlin grinned. "I was right."

Yes, Percival thought. Merlin was lucky that time, but the incident made Percival wonder if the warlock's luck would hold out. Merlin said that the curse would destroy Arthur and the rest of Camelot, but perhaps it would not be the demon magic that caused its destruction. If Arthur succeeded in killing him there would be no pit dark enough for the king to hide from his guilt…and Camelot, perhaps all of Albion, would suffer for it.


	4. Cause You've Got to Have Friends

**Author's Note: **_I am crying right meow…where are my reviews? And…this chapter is dedicated to my wonderful, charming, smart, and so so so handsome boyfriend. Love ya Jimmy! P.S.- This chapter is a little short, but more is on the way!_

Arthur's head ached. No, it was more than that. His whole body ached as if he'd been tossed down a flight of stairs. It seemed strange to him that he would feel any physical symptoms when it was his mind that was broken and not, for once, his body.

Arthur looked down at the tiny fortress of bubbles he'd managed to create in his bathwater and blew out a breath sending them tumbling over themselves in haphazard heaps. He understood how they must have felt in that moment…if, of course, bubbles felt at all which, to Arthur, was still up for debate. He understood what it was like to feel invincible and then to have that illusion shattered like so much fragile glass.

He lifted a hand from the luke warm water and frowned at the wrinkles in his palm. Guinevere had forced him into taking a ridiculously hot bath with the hopes that some peace and relaxation would bring clarity to his mind once more. He had fought against the idea in the beginning, but now that he was here he had to admit he rather liked sitting back and letting the water wash his aches away. He liked it so much, in fact, that he had no plan to remove himself from his bathwater in the near future.

He drew in a large breath and ducked his head beneath the surface, staring up at the ceiling as it undulated wildly with the ripples of the water. His ears plugged and he could hear the distant echo of fire crackling in the hearth, the sound more intimate than it ever could have been above the surface. Arthur could lose himself down here, he knew. And perhaps that would be better. Perhaps he could just close his eyes and wait for death to claim him. The pain would be bad at first, of course, but it would not last long and—

He needed to get out of the bath. Arthur surged up, mindless of the soapy water spilling all over the floor, and shook his drenched hair from his eyes. He stumbled in his haste to remove himself from the suddenly treacherous water and knocked over the chair that held his clothing. Cursing, he righted himself and toweled the soap from his body, wanting to be as far away from the tub as he possibly could. The water, still rippling from his hurried departure, suddenly seemed to call to him, like a siren in the deep.

He realized he was being irrational. He realized it, but it didn't stop him from dressing with more speed than he ever had before or from breathing out a sigh of relief as soon as he had shut the door to the bathing room.

Arthur stood outside the doorway for a long moment, unsure of where to go now that he had taken care of his supposedly peaceful bath. Guinevere was waiting for him in their bedchambers, but Arthur wasn't ready to face his wife's concerned glances and worried sighs. Besides, he felt far too jittery to sleep.

He knew whom he wanted to speak with. He knew who would be able to ease his fears and make him feel almost human again, but how could he face him after what he had done? Arthur had nearly killed him, of that he was sure. He remembered staring at Merlin's blood on his hands with a sort of sick fascination. He remembered how good he had felt when Merlin's skin broke beneath his fists and the horror in his gut when he realized what he had done.

And the warlock had simply smiled at him. No big deal, his smile said. But, his eyes…his eyes had betrayed him. Those orbs of gold had met his own and Arthur had seen the reflection of Merlin's fear there, the uncertainty…and the hurt.

How could he have done such a thing? He didn't even remember why he had done it. One moment he was speaking to Gwen about their journey and then…then rage. And the Voices. Always the voices. His father's voice telling him how useless a son he had been, a disgrace, a failure. Gwen's voice screaming at him for failing to be the man she loved, for not being Lancelot. His mother's voice pleading with him to die so that she could live. And Merlin, the loudest of all, informing Arthur of his deep seated hatred of his king.

Before that night the voices had been nothing but muted whispers, a hushed murmuring that, unless Arthur concentrated on it, grew no worse than a distant buzzing at the back of his head. It had distracted him, at first, but he soon got used to it and had conveniently "forgotten" to mention his new symptom to Merlin or his wife. The last thing he wanted was to give them one more reason to look at him strangely. And they did…even if they didn't realize it.

He didn't want pity. He despised pity and always had. He could easily handle the barely disguised glances of pure disdain he had received from a few of the more outspoken members of the court when he had made them sit in alphabetical order or when, after a good ten minutes of intense study, he had forced them to reorder themselves according to height because it fit the room better. Arthur could ignore the disgust, ignore the frustration and anger, even ignore the rolled eyes and huffed breaths. He was good at that. What he could not ignore was the way Merlin tried to hide his frown whenever Arthur glanced over at him, the warlock smiling sunnily while nodding his encouragement like Arthur was an idiot. Or the way Gwen would sigh and shake her head sadly as if he couldn't see her.

"I hate pity," he said the doorframe, kicking it softly with his boot. "Oh, poor Arthur and his broken mind. Let's all stare at him funny. That, children, is what you call a lunatic."

"Sire," Merlin whispered softly, but still causing Arthur to jump. "Who…uhhh…who are you talking to?"

"Nobody," Arthur replied, blushing furiously. Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Myself, I suppose."

"Oh," Merlin said, looking slightly relieved. "I thought maybe you…well…"

"Had an imaginary friend?" Arthur asked dryly.

"Something like that," Merlin whispered sheepishly.

"Well, nothing to worry about there," Arthur said darkly. "I haven't gone completely insane yet."

Merlin didn't say anything and Arthur felt his cheeks flush. Say something, he wanted to scream. Say anything…just…don't look at me like that. He refused to meet Merlin's gaze, as kind as it was, but focused instead on the large and ugly looking bruise on his temple and the matching mark beneath his right eye and across his jaw. He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat and closed his eyes in shame.

"Why are you lurking about," Arthur snapped, his self-loathing making his tone sharper than he had meant it to be. "Sneaking up on me like that…I could have killed you, Merlin. I could have thought you were some kind of intruder and—"

Arthur stopped at the look on his friend's face. I could have killed you, he repeated in his mind. Killed you like…like I could have in the throne room. Damn it, damn it, damn it! Why did he always have to put his foot in his mouth? He had wanted to find Merlin to apologize, to set things right, but had only managed to put his friend at further unease. There was a distance between them, a metaphysical wall that Arthur wanted to tear down with his bare fingers.

"I wasn't lurking," Merlin whispered to fill the sudden silence. "I was…I was worried about you, Arthur. I couldn't sleep until I knew you were doing better."

"Not trying to kill anyone, you mean."

"That isn't what I said."

"But, it's what you meant."

"No, I—"

"It's alright. I understand."

"Arthur, I…that isn't what I meant."

Merlin shuffled his feet absently and Arthur sighed. This wasn't them. At least, not the present version. Perhaps such awkward silences would have made sense at the beginning of their relationship, but certainly not now.

"Merlin," Arthur began, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at him. "I am sorry. I didn't mean…I don't know what came over me. I just…but, that doesn't matter, does it? I still lost control and I am horrified that I harmed you in any way. Please. Please believe me, Merlin. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know," Merlin said softly. "I knew that when it happened."

"The look on your face," Arthur said quietly. "It was the same look you gave me after the Darkness tortured you. Gods, I hoped to never see that look on your face again and then…damn it, I cause it!"

"Arthur," Merlin rasped, voice agonized. "Please, old friend, don't do this to yourself. I was afraid, yes, but I never once thought of…of what happened to me. I swear, Arthur, the Darkness didn't even cross my mind."

"Yes it did," Arthur snorted humorlessly. "Don't tell me that it didn't. I know you, Merlin."

The warlock opened his mouth to argue, but almost immediately shut it again. Arthur smirked at him and Merlin rolled his eyes. He could feel the buzzing beginning again at the back of his head, but he shook them away. They had gotten the jump on him once…they would not do so again.

"You should get some rest," Merlin told him, filling the silence once more.

"So should you."

"Arthur, you need sleep."

"So do you."

"Arthur—"

"Merlin, we could do this dance all night long and not get anywhere. What do you say we skip the theatrics for an evening and do something useful?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Teach me something."

"What?"

"You heard what I said, Merlin. Teach me something."

"You're a prat. There…I've taught you something."

"I meant magic, Merlin. I was under the assumption that was the only reason I was keeping you around so…I say again…teach me something."

"You…want me…to teach you magic?"

"I do believe we have gone over this already."

"Why?

"Merlin," Arthur sighed. "I am really trying to keep this whole insanity thing under wraps and, for whatever reason, talking to you seems to help. Now, either teach me magic or I'll remind you of the countless days you spent acting as my training dummy."

"That was very kingly of you, sire."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I'm just saying that it's been awhile since you've ordered me around like that. Do this, Merlin. Do that, Merlin. Wash my stinky clothes, Merlin. I kept feeling like my life was missing something and now I know what it is."

"You may not be my servant any longer, but I can still order you around, Merlin."

"Sure."

"I can!"

"Whatever you say, Arthur."

"Merlin, I am still your king!"

"And?"

"And that position demands respect!"

"Sure…but not from me."

"I should put you in the stocks, Merlin. Teach you some manners."

"You could try."

"Will you teach me magic or not, Merlin?"

"Why this sudden interest in magic?" Merlin asked, frowning at him. "You were never that intrigued before."

"Why your sudden reluctance to teach me?" Arthur returned, smirking. "Afraid I'll be better than you?"

"Hardly," Merlin snorted. "I just don't want to be held responsible for when you burn the forest down."

"Please," Arthur said quietly, suddenly serious. "I know it's strange, but…I can't sleep now, Merlin. I just can't."

"Alright," Merlin said hurriedly, brow furrowing. "Let's go."

And so, an hour after his showdown with the bath, Arthur found himself lying next to Merlin on a patch of grass near the lake. The moon shone down on them from above and sent silver ripples across the surface of the water. They had not spoken, but for once Arthur didn't mind the silence. The buzzing in his head had all but disappeared and it was nice to simply sit and enjoy the remaining peace they would be allowed.

Merlin showed him beautiful things as they chatted in the grass. Arthur's eyes grew wide in amazement and he wondered how his father could have despised something so wonderful. They teased each other mercilessly and, as they did, Arthur felt more like himself again.

"I'm not exactly the best teacher," Merlin said lamely. "I've never actually had to call on the magic, you know, and so I don't really know how to make you understand. Gaius would probably be a better person to learn from."

"It's alright," Arthur whispered. "This is fine, Merlin. More than fine, actually."

And it was. This was the way things should be between them. This was right. No wall, no awkward silences, no miserable glances. Nothing could change that. Not even the gods.

Of course, the gods had other ideas.


	5. A Boy and His Dragon

**Author's Note: **_Reviews…that is all._

Merlin was late and Arthur would be furious. Of course, this wasn't the first time he had been late to something his king had deemed important. Nor would it be the last. In fact, Merlin had made a career out of being excessively tardy when it came to Arthur and the dull tasks he charged the warlock with. After Arthur had made him his Right Hand, Merlin had fully intended to work on his bad habit, but realized that the effort was a futile one. After all, a tiger cannot change his stripes. Not that he'd ever seen a tiger, but he'd heard of them from the Eastern traders that made the treacherous journey over the mountains each year.

Merlin shook his head as he ran, jumping over fallen branches and rocks in the path as if he were a doe fleeing from the mighty hunter. Tigers and traders were not important. What was important was that Merlin was late and Arthur would be furious. Normally, a furious Arthur amused the warlock to no end and he frequently sought ways to incense his king further. An insane and furious Arthur, however, was a different story.

The fact that he no longer had to lie about why he was late brought him slight comfort. He doubted any excuse would sound reasonable in Arthur's condition, but he hoped that his king would be understanding enough to simply berate him tirelessly for holding up their journey. The alternative was not something he wanted to think upon with any real concentration.

The reason he was late was an important one and had struck him just as the sun had been rising over the tops of the castle. Arthur and Merlin had been walking back to the city, each lost in their own thoughts and each only vaguely wondering what the other was thinking. There were moments like that between them and always had been. If Arthur wanted to share his thoughts with his friend then he would and vice versa.

Merlin was thinking about his conversation with the goddess Ceridwen and what could be his final days with Arthur. So far he had thought of nothing that would allow him to stay, short of pleading with the goddess to spare him a fate of immortality. However, the more he thought about it the more he wondered just what that would cost him. His magic? Could he live without that? He wanted to say yes, but the cold terror that swept through him at the thought of giving up his power forced him to reconsider.

Arthur was his best friend, his brother, his king. Merlin was prepared to sacrifice his life for who Arthur was and what he would create, but his magic was such an integral part of him that he didn't know who he would be without it. For that matter, could he even survive without its power? Ceridwen had said that he was magic and if that were true how could magic be taken from him and he still live?

Merlin wished he had time to ask Kilgarrah about his predicament, but the quest was leaving and Merlin didn't wish to explain why his need to speak to the dragon was so urgent. If only there was some way he could sneak off before the knights were prepared to leave and—

Merlin stopped as an unbelievably brilliant idea struck him full in the face. There was a way for Merlin to speak to Kilgarrah about his problem and help his king at the same time.

"Arthur," Merlin called to his king who stopped to look back at him impatiently. "Give me your ring."

"What?"

"You're wedding ring," Merlin said briskly. "Give it to me."

"Why on earth would I give you my ring, Merlin?"

"I need it."

"Why?"

"I have an idea."

Arthur raised his eyebrows expectantly, but Merlin elaborated no further. It was only an idea and he wasn't even sure whether it would work. It was better for the king to be in the dark than it was for him to get his hopes up and be disappointed. Instead of answering his king, Merlin snapped his fingers twice, held his hand out, and made a "give me" gesture with his fingers.

"Trust me, Arthur," he said when the king stared at him strangely.

"Tell me why you need it," Arthur replied instantly, paranoia getting the best of him.

"I can't," Merlin said. "Not yet. Please, Arthur."

"I'll give you something else, Merlin. How about my Pendragon ring?"

"No," Merlin said promptly. "It has to be your wedding ring, Arthur. That has the most emotional value."

"Alright," Arthur replied slowly, pulling the ring from his finger. "Just…don't lose it."

"I won't," Merlin promised, snatching the little silver band up before Arthur could change his mind. "Thank you."

Merlin took the silver chain that held his own ring from around his neck and placed the wedding band beside it, clasping it about his throat once more. Then, before Arthur could say a word, Merlin dashed back the way they had come.

"Merlin," Arthur shouted after him. "Where the hell are you going with my ring?"

"I have to take care of something," Merlin answered, taking a calculated risk and looking over his shoulder at the king. Running and talking at the same time had never been his strongpoint.

"Now?" Arthur called incredulously. "Merlin, we are leaving on the quest you've been badgering me about all week!" Merlin did not deign to answer him. "Merlin, I swear if you are gone more than an hour I will leave you behind! Did you hear that, Merlin?" Merlin still did not answer, concentrating on the path in front of him as he ran. "Merlin! If you do something crazy to my ring I will…well, I don't know what I'll do, but you can guarantee it will not be pleasant!"

Merlin smiled and showed his teeth. Something crazy was exactly what he planned to do. He continued his flight through the trees, stopping only to gingerly work his way around the harsher landscape he came across. He supposed he could have called Kilgarrah in Camelot, but he didn't want to risk his king over hearing their conversation. And, besides, this way was far more fun.

He was proud to say that he only tripped once on the way to the clearing and couldn't help but notice the vast improvement over previous years where he was lucky to escape the forest without broken bones. He was panting heavily as he cleared the tree line and he stopped, resting his hands on his knees, to regain his breath.

Once he could breath normally, he called Kilgarrah's name, the sound echoing around him loudly. He watched the skies for about fifteen minutes before the whoosh of wings beating the air filled his ears. He turned and watched the giant creature land, followed closely by Aithusa, her white scales glimmering in the morning dawn.

"Merlin," Kilgarrah greeted. "It is good to see you, old friend. How are you feeling?"

"Better," Merlin replied, watching the white dragon intensely. "I see you brought Aithusa."

"Yes," Kilgarrah agreed. "She seems to have become my shadow. I cannot say that I dislike her company. It feels good to fly the skies with another after being alone for so long. Yet, I sense you are not thrilled with her presence…why?"

"She was Morgana's," Merlin said simply.

"She was no ones," Kilgarrah corrected. "The reasons behind her alliance with the witch are her own and until she is able to speak she cannot defend her decision to do so. Be wise, Emrys, and hold off judgment until you know the truth of things. Besides, I thought you had forgiven the witch for her crimes?"

"Forgiven yes," Merlin said. "But forgotten? No. I do not trust her, Kilgarrah. Nor the dragon she called friend. "

"And yet you rush to save her," Kilgarrah said quietly.

"I rush to save Arthur," Merlin disagreed. "Morgana's subsequent rescue is only a byproduct of the mission, Kilgarrah."

"You would leave her to her fate," Kilgarrah asked. "If Arthur were not in danger, would you allow her to remain as she is?"

"I…I don't know," Merlin said honestly. "I don't know what I would do."

"It is a tricky path, to be sure. And one I would not envy."

"Morgana isn't why I am here," Merlin said impatiently. "I am here about Arthur."

"Yes," the dragon said quietly. "How is our young king faring?"

"He's…he's not doing well," Merlin said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "I am afraid we may have waited to long to start the quest. The paranoia has gotten worse and last night…last night he forgot who I was, Kilgarrah. Just for a moment, but a moment was all it took."

Kilgarrah stared at him for a long moment, golden eyes sweeping over his thin frame. There was a sadness in those golden pools and a heaviness to his expression that Merlin did not understand. The dragon was not old, by any means, but his eyes were filled with such weariness and unwanted knowledge that Merlin felt scared for him all the same.

"Was it the king's paranoia that caused those bruises on your skin," the dragon finally asked, voice quiet.

Merlin reached a hand up and brushed his fingers along the tender part of his jawline where Arthur's gauntlet had struck him the night before. He had hoped Kilgarrah would not notice, but the dragon's eyes were keen and the bruise was dark.

"He forgot who he was," Merlin explained. "Forgot who I was. He didn't mean to do it."

"Perhaps not," Kilgarrah answered solemnly. "But not meaning to kill a man makes him no less dead."

Merlin frowned. The dragon didn't actually think Arthur could be capable of killing him, did he? Hurt him, perhaps, but—but what? His king had not killed him the night before, but it had been close. If Percival had not intervened or if Awen had not been there to heal him…was that where they drew the line? Near death, but no further? Or was Arthur truly so far gone that he would kill Merlin if the right circumstances presented themselves?

"That's why I'm here," Merlin said, shaken. "I was—"

"You were hoping I could help him the way I helped you," the dragon interrupted.

"Yes," Merlin said quietly. "You helped keep the Darkness at bay all those months ago, Kilgarrah, can you not do the same for Arthur? An enchantment of some kind? I brought his ring. I thought maybe you could enchant it and he could wear it and he'd be alright for a little while longer."

"The principle is sound," Kilgarrah said. "However, I can make no guarantees that it will work. Demon magic is strong, Merlin. Far stronger than my own."

"I don't care," Merlin responded. "If there is even the slightest chance that it will help him I want to try it."

"Then hold out the ring, Merlin, and I will try."

Merlin drew the ring from about his neck and unstrung it from the chain. He held it out to the dragon and watched as the creature took in a giant breath. Kilgarrah breathed out suddenly and with his exhalation came brilliant blue flames that shrouded Merlin's hand in a violent glow. The fire did not burn, but it left his hand tingling, as if he had slept upon it and it had lost all feeling.

"I hope that provides some level of assistance," the dragon said once he was done. "There is little more I could do."

"I know," Merlin answered. "I wish you could come with us, Kilgarrah."

"I would only hinder your journey," Kilgarrah said. "And draw unwanted attention. I would be of little assistance to you beyond the gates of Avalon, Emrys."

"I thought the souls of dragons end up there," Merlin questioned.

"This is true," the dragon replied. "But, until the time of my death is at hand I cannot enter those blessed gates. Although, it seems, that you can."

Merlin glanced up at him sharply and found the approximation of a dragon grin on Kilgarrah's face.

"You know?"

"Merlin," the dragon chuckled. "When will you learn? I know everything."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was not my secret to tell."

"Kilgarrah, what can I do? Ceridwen wants me to return with her after I fulfill her boon. She wants me to leave Arthur."

"Then you should do so."

"What?"

"Merlin, you must have known that you and Arthur would one day come to an end. All things do."

"I won't accept that, Kilgarrah. I simply won't."

"Hmmm," the dragon murmured. "You would deny yourself immortality for the sake of one man?"

"For the sake of Arthur," Merlin corrected. "And for the sake of Camelot and the people I love there. One lifetime with them is better than eternity alone."

"You are wise, Emrys of the gods. But, I am afraid I cannot further your wisdom in this matter. The gods are fickle beings and will not take kindly to your dismissal of them."

"I don't mean to offend anyone," Merlin argued. "But, what choice have they given me? I will not abandon Arthur."

"And are you prepared to pay the price for such loyalty? Death is only one of many judgments they could inflict upon you and would be the least painful of them all."

"I have to try," Merlin insisted. "Even if it means my death…I have to try."

"It seems you have already made your choice," Kilgarrah said quietly. "It would be a wasted effort to try and change your mind."

"Yes," Merlin said. "I have made my decision, but…is it the right one?"

"That I cannot say," the dragon replied. "Your path is your own, old friend. I have no talent for soothsaying and feel no urgency to receive any. The road you walk is no longer in my power to shape."

"This doesn't help me at all," Merlin said miserably, kicking at the ground in frustration.

"No, I suppose it does not. However, let me offer you what little comfort I can. If you are adamant in your choice to refuse the gods, speak to Brigid. She is as fair as the gods have the capacity to be and if you hope to receive leniency it should be her ears your pleas fall upon."

"Brigid," Merlin blanched. "The mother goddess?"

"The very one," the dragon replied.

Merlin opened his mouth to ask more questions, but he could hear the bells of Camelot ringing in the distance. He looked up to see the sun drastically higher in the sky than when he had began and surmised that he had well surpassed his hour time limit. Damn! He hoped that Arthur wouldn't choose this one occasion to make true his threat.

"I have to go," Merlin said quickly. "Thank you, old friend. For everything and…if this is goodbye…I—"

"We will meet again," Kilgarrah stopped him. "Whether in this life or the next remains a mystery, but do not fret. Our friendship is not over."

"Kilgarrah," Merlin began. "I…"

"Go," the dragon ordered gently. "Your king waits for you."

Merlin nodded once and turned to make his way back to Camelot. He felt a horrible pit in his stomach and a sorrow he could not give words to. Perhaps they would meet once more, but it would not be for a long time. Merlin knew this instinctively and his sudden premonition did not bode well for him.

"Merlin," the dragon called. "I would warn you before you disappear beyond my reach, old friend. The goddess you spoke with, the one you call Ceridwen…do not trust her, Merlin. Do not trust any of them."

"I won't," Merlin said, turning back to face him.

"And Merlin? Do not fear your destiny."

Merlin wasn't sure what to say to that, but he nodded in understanding and disappeared behind the tree line. In the distance the bells rung once more and Merlin remembered how late he was…and how furious Arthur would be.

Which is how he found himself running madly through the forest in an attempt to get to the king before he was left behind. If he hadn't been already. The echo of the bells off the tops of the trees was a constant reminder of his time limit and Merlin surged onwards, heedless of roots and rocks and other obstructions that were so eager to trip him up and break a leg. He could just imagine Arthur's face if he found the warlock sprawled in the dirt when he was supposed to be beside the king, riding to fulfill their quest. It was comical…for all of two minutes.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Merlin panted at the incessant bells. "Just…give…it a…rest!"

He sped along the outside wall and through the castle gates, ignoring the surprised grunts from the guards and the shouts of alarm from merchantmen that protected their wares from any sort of mischief with all the ferocity of a gargoyle. He passed the numerous townsfolk that were repairing the damage of the demon war and called hurried greetings to those he knew.

Merlin could feel the back of his shirt sticking to his skin and although the day was cool he felt hot. He was just beginning his turn into the courtyard when he slammed into a young Bedwyr, sending them both to the ground. The newest knight, dressed in his armor, faired far better than the warlock and recovered almost instantly. He pushed himself up with his good hand and stared at Merlin who looked up at him sheepishly from where he lay panting on the stones.

"Where's the fire," Bedwyr asked innocently, reaching out a hand to help the warlock to his feet.

"Oh, come on," Merlin panted. "You know exactly where the fire is. How mad is he?"

"Practically blazing," Bedwyr responded with a laugh. "I hope you have a good reason for being so late. He's about ready to roast you on an open flame."

"And you wanted to serve under him," Merlin said in mock disbelief.

"Hey," Bedwyr teased. "I'm not the one who's late."

"Fair point."

"Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"You should probably get up there, don't you think?"

"Right. Late. Arthur. Mad. Going."

Bedwyr looked at him strangely and grinned. Merlin took one last final gulp of air and continued on his way up the pathway, the young knight following behind him. As he came up the slight embankment and towards the castle steps, Merlin's king came into view, pacing furiously, while the knights watched on with vague amusement.

Gwain, sitting regally atop his horse, said something to Arthur and pointed, drawing the king's attention to his missing friend. Merlin watched as Arthur's face changed from angry to relieved to angry again.

"Where were you," Arthur shouted, stomping towards him. "I told you an hour, Merlin! An hour!"

"Yes," Merlin breathed. "I'm sorry, Arthur, I—"

"You were not back in an hour," Arthur continued. "Look up at the sky, Merlin. Do you know what that is?"

"Umm," Merlin said. "The sky?"

"Wrong."

"Are you sure? Because you just said to look up at the sky and—"

"Don't be funny, Merlin. What is in the sky?"

"Uhhh…clouds?"

"Birds," Gwain offered.

Arthur looked around him at the hidden smirks of his knights and the rather unhidden smirks of Gwain and Awen. His face grew red and Merlin had the distinct impression his head would explode.

"The sun," he shouted. "The sun is in the sky, Merlin!"

"Yes," Merlin said. "Very good, Arthur. The sun IS in the sky."

"It took me ages to figure that out," Percival grinned. "Good job, sire."

Arthur huffed out a giant breath and shook his head wearily. To be honest, Merlin could not have asked for a better reaction from his king. He had been expecting something much worse and the fact they were still able to tease him about it pleased him greatly.

"Never mind," Arthur said. "I don't even know why I bother. The point is…you started your little impromptu journey at dawn…it is now almost midday. What do you have to say for yourself, Merlin?"

"I say you're welcome," Merlin said, pulling Arthur's wedding band from off his chain and handing it to the man.

"For returning my own ring to me? Aww, you shouldn't have."

"I've told you once and I will tell you again…sarcasm doesn't suit you. I enhanced the ring a little bit…or Kilgarrah did."

"I thought I said nothing crazy. Why don't you ever listen?"

"Because you're voice annoys me."

"Funny, Merlin. What did you do to it? Should I be worried?"

"Absolutely," Merlin said, rolling his eyes. "It's going to burst into flame any minute now."

Arthur gave him a fierce look and Merlin knew he was pushing his king's limited patience. Once upon a time, such a thing would have been Merlin's favorite pastime, but they had a quest to fulfill and no time to waste for banter. Well, Merlin amended, not too much banter. It was he and Arthur, after all. Banter was in their nature.

"Put it on," Merlin ordered, watching as the man gingerly slipped the ring about his finger. "How do you feel?"

"What am I supposed to feel, Merlin?"

"I don't know…I'm not even sure if it worked. Is there any change in—"

"The buzzing," Arthur said suddenly, a slow smile spreading across his face. "The buzzing stopped, Merlin."

"The buzzing," Merlin asked, confused. "What buzzing?"

"The voices," Arthur snapped, waving his friend's question away with his hand. "They've stopped."

"So it worked," Merlin smiled. "It really worked."

"What worked?"

"The spell. Do you remember the spell Kilgarrah used on me when I was dying from the Darkness?"

"Of course I remember. I thought he was going to roast you."

"Hmmm…lovely image that made…thanks for that."

"Merlin," Gwain said impatiently. "No offense, mate, but finish the damn story! In this century, if it all possible."

"Anyways," Merlin continued with a sharp glance at Gwain. "I asked Kilgarrah to enchant the ring with the same spell."

"Why not simply have him enchant me?"

"Enchantments on things last longer. There isn't any soul to get in the way."

"So this spell will make me not as crazy?"

"For a little while," Merlin explained. "It isn't a permanent solution by any means, but it will help."

Arthur lifted his hand and looked at the ring questioningly. He wiggled his fingers back and forth for a moment before letting his hand drop and sighing.

"Well," he said. "I suppose a little while is better than nothing."

"Are you joking," Gwain called. "A little while is bloody perfect. If you had hit me one more time, I swear—"

"Why did he hit you," Merlin asked, aware that the attacks must not have been that bad if the knight's chuckles of amusement were anything to go by.

"He saw a spider," Gwain said gleefully. "A huge hairy one with giant gangs and hairy legs and—"

"Enough," Arthur said loudly. "He get's the point."

"No, I don't," Merlin smiled. "Go on, Gwain. What else did Arthur say about this spider?"

Arthur shot him a look and Merlin's grin widened. The king rolled his eyes and slapped the reigns of Merlin's horse into the warlock's hands. Merlin hoisted himself in the saddle and looked around to make sure he had everything he would need. His staff that Arthur made him was secured tightly to the saddle on his right and the sword on his left. He turned and mouthed a thank you to Awen for packing for him. She responded with a slight shrug of her shoulders and a sly smile.

"Where is Gwen," Merlin asked, looking around him to find the king's wife nowhere to be seen.

"In the castle," Arthur said, eyes darkening. "She could not watch me leave. And…I could not bear to watch her watching me."

"You'll be back in no time," Merlin soothed. "You'll see."

Arthur nodded once, eyes dark and unreadable, before pulling his horse around and gesturing for the men to follow. Together they rode through the streets and together they rode out of Camelot's gates, the world they knew, to the mysteries beyond.

Perhaps, if they had stayed together, the quest would have end happier. Perhaps, together, they would vanquish their foes and succeed in their mission with no trouble at all. Together they were strong. Together they were invincible.

If only they knew how hard staying together would become. If only they knew the heartache that awaited them upon the road to Avalon.


	6. No One Bests the Devil

**Author's Note: **_I am so sorry I've been neglecting you! I have been busy with finals and Christmas madness and, as I told Merlini Barba, I was stuck for the first time in my Merlin writing career. I am back now and would love to hear what you all think of this chapter! As for the ending of Merlin…no words…I can only hope that you continue to read my stories…I promise it won't end the same way._

Arthur Pendragon was about to lose his mind.

He had been expecting this moment for some time, of course. He had hoped Merlin's trick with his wedding ring would have offered him more comfort than it had, but it seemed fate was destined to deny him. The whole situation seemed unfair to him. What had he done to deserve such a fate? Why did life wish to put him through so much misery? And why, for God's sake, did it choose to deliver the final blow to his sanity in such an awful, earsplitting manner?

Somewhere behind him a dying cat screeched out something vaguely resembling a tune he'd heard in a tavern somewhere. Arthur winced and turned to glare at the man responsible for the cacophony of noise assaulting his brain. Gwain simply smiled sweetly and continued to sing.

"You'd think he would have grown tired of it by now," Arthur sighed, watching Merlin grimace as Gwain mutilated the next verse.

"Hours," Merlin groaned. "He's been singing for hours."

"Singing," Percival snorted behind them. "If that's singing I'll eat my socks."

"And we all know what a treat that would be," Elyan grinned.

"Gwain," Arthur shouted. "Give it a rest. If I hear one more verse my ears will start to bleed!"

"You wound me," Gwain called in reply. "This is my artistic ability we are talking about here!"

"You have no artistic ability," Awen groaned, steering her horse around a fallen log. "I wouldn't wish you on my worst enemy, Gwain."

"My lady," Gwain gasped in mock horror. "I am crushed! Truly…I don't know how I'll go on!"

"Stick to being a pain in the ass," Arthur said. "You're good at that, Gwain."

"Your wish is my command, Princess."

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but was drowned out by the knight's renewed attempt at becoming the worst bard in all of Camelot. Arthur groaned and glanced over at Merlin in desperation.

"Make him stop," he pleaded. "I don't care what you do…just put an end to his infernal racket."

"I don't know," Merlin grinned. "It's sort of beginning to grow on me."

"Either you do it or I will."

"Fine. He's all yours, sire."

"Merlin."

"Yes, Arthur?"

"You know I wasn't actually offering to do it."

"And how could I have possibly known that, Arthur? Your exact words were—"

"I know what I said," Arthur snapped. "Why do you have to take things so literal, Merlin?"

"Because you react so splendidly," Merlin grinned.

"Are you going to do it or not?" Arthur huffed.

"Do what?"

"Merlin!"

"Arthur," Merlin soothed. "He'll get tired of it eventually. Your lack of patience with him only makes it that much more entertaining for him."

"I have plenty of patience, Merlin. I'm the most patient man alive."

"Arthur, let's not get carried away."

"What do you mean?"

"Sire, you have all the patience of a rabid badger."

"A rabid badger? Really Merlin? How long did it take you to think that little gem up?"

"Oh, he's been waiting to use that one on you for months," Awen teased. "I saw him practicing it in the mirror."

Arthur laughed and Merlin grinned back at the Fair Folk woman. She winked at him and his smile stretched even further than before. The king shook his head. Some men were such fools when it came to women.

Guinevere made him smile like that.

Arthur's grin faded at the thought of his beloved wife. He hadn't seen her in two days and his heart ached for her presence, the smell of her, the feel of her skin beneath his hands. And yet, he knew that two days would stretch into three, three into four, and the dull ache in his chest would only grow stronger and more persistent.

"Arthur," Merlin said. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Arthur answer briskly. "We should make camp for the night. It will be dark soon and I wanted to go hunting while there is still enough light to do so."

"Sure," Merlin frowned, holding up a halting hand to the knights behind him.

Arthur practically vaulted from his horse and watched as his traveling companions did the same. His knights had danced to this tune before and they began setting up camp with practiced hands and deft fingers, teasing each other mercilessly as they worked. He was glad to see that Bedwyr seemed to be holding his own and that the young knight was easily keeping pace with his two handed brethren.

Arthur would never admit it to him, but he had been nervous about allowing him to accompany them on the journey to Avalon. The young man was a strong ally and as bullheaded as any man Arthur had ever seen, but he was still extremely new to the ranks and had yet to be tested out in the field. The only thing that had changed Arthur's mind was the boy's eagerness to go and the other knight's assurances that he was ready. They had accepted Bedwyr into their ranks without question and in the short week he'd been a knight the boy had quickly grown into something of an inspiration to them. No matter how hard they worked, Bedwyr worked harder. No matter how fiercely they fought, Bedwyr was fiercer. Gwain had begun calling him the "One Handed Devil" on the second day of Bedwyr's training and the nickname had stuck.

"He's fitting in nicely," Merlin said, appearing beside his king.

"So it seems," Arthur agreed.

"Still going hunting?"

"I have a feeling you would like to eat tonight, yes?"

"I wouldn't be adverse to the idea."

"Then yes…I'm still going hunting."

"I'll come with you," Merlin said.

"You're offering to come hunting with me," Arthur snorted with raised brows. "This is a first."

"You shouldn't go off alone," Merlin said, shrugging.

"If you say so," Arthur sighed, pulling his crossbow and a number of bolts from his rucksack. "Just…be quiet, will you? I don't want to come back empty handed just because you can't walk properly."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Arthur."

"Don't mention it. Shall we go?"

"I'm right behind you, Arthur."

"Yes…that's what I'm afraid of."

Arthur didn't plan to go very far. After all, there were tales of the forests of the east; tales of shadows and dark creatures wandering the woods at night. He planned on turning back to camp, regardless of what they had caught, when the sun finished disappearing beyond the trees. What he hadn't planned on was the plethora of wildlife that seemed destined to cross his path. He'd caught two deer, a number of squirrels and even a few pheasants before he looked up at the sky to find the sun all but gone from the sky.

"Arthur," Merlin was saying for what was probably the hundredth time. "We should really turn back."

"You worry too much, Merlin."

"And you don't worry enough," Merlin snapped. "Arthur, I know what lurks in these woods at night. We aren't safe here!"

"Scared of the dark, Merlin?"

"Arthur!"

"Alright," Arthur conceded hastily. "We'll go. Calm down."

Arthur threw his catch over the side of his horse and began the trek back to camp, listening to Merlin's feet crunch noisily behind him. He rolled his eyes and stopped to stare at the young warlock.

"What?" Merlin asked innocently.

"Your feet," Arthur hissed. "Quiet them down, would you?"

"I didn't do anything," Merlin said, frowning.

"Right."

"Arthur, I swear. That wasn't—"

Arthur's head shot to the side as the rustling continued somewhere to his right. He looked at Merlin and put his finger to his lips. The warlock nodded once and closed his eyes, most likely preparing a spell of some sort.

"Who's there?" Arthur called into the darkness. "We know you are out there. Show yourself!"

The rustling stopped instantly and Arthur pulled his sword from its sheath, muscles tensing for battle. His eyes flickered to his friend and he felt strangely comforted at the flash of gold that met his gaze steadily.

"Show yourself," Arthur repeated loudly. "I will not ask again."

"How quaint," a steely female voice said from the darkness. "A king and a warlock…a fine treat. A fine treat, indeed."

"Who are you?" Arthur asked uneasily. "State your name."

"My name?" said the woman. "I have been given many names, Arthur Pendragon."

"State your purpose then," Arthur ordered shakily.

"Purpose?" the woman repeated, stepping into the scant light the moon provided. "I should think my purpose clear to you."

Arthur's mouth opened in horror as moonlight illuminated the creature standing before them. The woman's flesh was waxen and pale, her eyes rheumy from death. Lips stained blue from cold curled up in a smile to reveal pointed, jagged teeth. Her hair and dress were matted with blood and dirt and as she ran her hands through her golden tresses Arthur could see the points of claws glistening at the end of her fingertips.

"What are you?" Arthur croaked.

"I am the harbinger of death," the woman rasped. "The singer of the damned. I come to sing to you, Arthur Pendragon."

"A banshee," Merlin spat, brow furrowed in disgust. "Step away from her, Arthur."

Arthur took a tentative step back and tried to swallow the sudden lump of fear that was trapped in his throat. The banshee stared at him with humorless eyes and Arthur was reminded of spider eyeing its prey. She moved, as if to follow him, but stopped when Merlin stepped in front of his king.

"Stay away from him," Merlin snarled. "Go weave your tales of death somewhere else."

"You will not keep me from my task," the banshee hissed, eyes flashing a violent shade of silver in her anger. "Death cannot be denied."

"He's not dying," Merlin replied coldly. "You have no business here."

"Fate has spoken, young warlock. You will not change the road she has chosen."

"I've changed things before," Merlin said. "I will do so again."

"You are blinded by your love for him," the banshee whispered, shaking her head sorrowfully. "You cannot see the path you have chosen, Emrys." She flickered suddenly and appeared at his side, stroking a cold finger down Merlin's face. "But, I can. And if you continue you will only find sorrow and grief. Turn back…and let fate do what it must."

"I will not give up on him," Merlin spat, jerking back from her touch. "Fate be damned."

"Fool," the woman hissed, baring her fangs in a feral snarl. "You will regret your words, Emrys. You may be the son of gods, but even you cannot cheat death once it has set its sights upon a mortal soul."

Merlin opened his mouth to snarl a reply, but stopped when he saw the expression on Arthur's face. The king was staring at him like he'd never seen the man before.

"Merlin," Arthur said hesitantly. "What does she mean?"

"Nothing," Merlin replied instantly, his stomach dropping as he realized what the banshee had said. "She meant nothing."

"She called you the son of gods," Arthur continued, heedless of Merlin's discomfort. "Why would she call you that, Merlin?"

"The king does not know," the banshee whispered, bloodless lips curling into a mocking smile.

"Know what?" Arthur asked, stepping around his friend to stand directly in front of the woman.

The banshee's grin widened, but she did not answer him. Instead she stepped closer to him, eyes glowing, skin almost translucent in the moonlight. Arthur wanted to step away from her, put some distance between them, but he was frozen to the spot, unable to move, unable to look away from the creatures penetrating silver eyes.

He could hear Merlin yelling at him, could see the young warlock attempt to pull the banshee away from him, but the creature's eyes flashed black and the man went flying into the trees beyond them, the back of his head colliding with the trunk of a large oak tree. He collapsed and did not move again.

The woman's eyes met Arthur's and she smiled, tenderly sweeping a lock of his hair from his forehead. Her fingers trailed down his cheek until she reached his jawline where her hand suddenly fisted in his hair and pulled, baring his throat to her. Still Arthur could not move.

He could feel panic growing in his stomach now, harsh and writhing relentlessly in his gut. He could not see what the creature was doing, but he could feel her cold fingers at the nape of his neck, her hair upon his cheek. He glanced frantically at Merlin, but the warlock had not moved and Arthur could make out the black sheen of blood on his temple in the scant light the moon provided him.

He cursed himself for his stupidity. He should have listened to Merlin and gone back to camp. Instead of eating roasted deer by the fire he was being attacked by a creature of legend and Merlin was unconscious…again.

Arthur jumped when he felt the banshee's lips upon his throat. They were cold…so cold it burned, but no matter how hard the king tried he could not pull away from her. The burning cold suddenly intensified and Arthur wanted to scream from the sharp, stabbing intensity of the pain. It blinded him and punched the air from his lungs until he was gasping for breath. And then, as quickly as the pain began, the burning disappeared and Arthur found himself curled into a ball upon the forest floor.

He was shivering, the cold almost inside him, flowing through his body like the blood in his veins. The king stared up at the banshee in shock and horror, disbelief etched across his face. The woman no longer had the complexion of a corpse, her flesh vibrant with the ruddy glow of youth. Her lips were full and red and her hair, still matted with dirt and blood, shone a brilliant gold, almost like stars in the night sky. It was as if she had sucked the life from him and Arthur wondered if he had taken on the appearance she had once sported.

"Death cannot be denied," the banshee repeated, hoarse voice suddenly soft and lilting. "You are no exception, Arthur Pendragon."

"W-what are y-you do—doing to m-me," Arthur stuttered, cold making his teeth chatter uncontrollably.

"I have marked you for death," the banshee whispered. "Your aura glows like a beacon in the night for her dark reapers."

Arthur looked over at where Merlin had slumped over, desperately wishing the warlock would wake up. The young man seemed to care very little for his king's wishes for he remained still and Arthur realized he was on his own. He lifted himself up, a few inches at a time, until he was on his knees, staring up at the banshee in hatred.

"I'm n-not going t-to die," Arthur shivered defiantly. "C-certainly not a-at your h-hands."

"You misunderstand," the creature smiled. "I have not come to kill you, mortal king. I have come to mark your soul for the reapers of this world…and to sing the song of your demise."

"I'm not i-interested in your s-songs," Arthur spat.

The banshee's grin widened and her jagged teeth pressed against her lips in amusement. She shook her head, blond tresses swaying with every movement she made, and raised a finger to her lips. Her mouth opened wide and she screamed, a shrill screech that made Arthur cringe and put his hands to his ears.

Arthur cried out, the sound of the creature's horrid screams ringing in his ears like Camelot's bells in his skull. He would give anything to listen to Gwain's horrid singing if it meant an end to the agony of the banshee's keening cry. The shrill screech grew louder still and Arthur felt his eyes roll up in his head as he slid to the forest floor.

He could see visions of his future…visions of death and blood and mayhem. He saw himself dying, over and over again, each time offering him some new version of his demise. And through it all he could hear the creature's keening screams take on a melody as timeless and beautiful as the earth. It was horrible and wonderful, haunting and joyous, terrifying and calming all at the same time.

Merlin, Arthur thought desperately. Merlin, please…

Arthur's vision filled with a brilliant flash of white light and the banshee's cries suddenly ceased with a choked scream of rage and pain. He could feel the creature's presence vanish and the sudden ringing silence in his ears left him dazed and unfocused. The intense white light had vanished from his vision and all that was left was inky blackness. Panic rose in him at his lack of sight and he heard himself shout Merlin's name in sheer terror.

He couldn't see. He couldn't see a damn thing.


	7. Ain't That A Kick In The Head

_Author's Note:_ **Hooray! Thanks for the reviews! MORE?**

Merlin's ears were ringing like Camelot's bells on the eve of war.

"Getting any better?" Merlin asked softly, watching Arthur blink his eyes rapidly in an effort to clear his vision.

"Depends on your definition of better," Arthur said loudly.

"Can you see anything? Anything at all?"

"No," Arthur replied, all but shouting so Merlin could hear. "Flecks of light here and there, but nothing clear. How about you? Ears stopped ringing yet?"

"No," Merlin replied drily. "What a pair we make."

"Huh," Arthur snorted. "See no evil, hear no evil, huh Merlin?"

"Arthur," Merlin chided. "I don't see how this situation warrants jokes."

"If I were Gwain I would tell you that any situation warrants a joke, Merlin. Don't be such a sour puss."

"You aren't Gwain," Merlin snapped.

"Thank the gods for small mercies then."

"Arthur, this is serious!"

"I am well aware of that, old friend. No need to shout."

"I'm not shouting."

"Yes, you are. You're yelling loud enough for the whole damn forest to hear."

"Well, if I am its your fault."

"My fault? What on earth has gotten into you, Merlin?"

Merlin opened his mouth to reply hotly, but shut it with a snap of his teeth. It would do them no good to fight now, not when they were both helpless. At the moment all they had for survival was each other and with two of their combined sense being out of commission they would need to be able to rely on one another.

Of course, it didn't help that his head ached and the small gash on the side of his head stung fiercely. Every beat of his heart sent another spasm of pain to his brain and it was hard for him to focus on any one thought in particular. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he would not allow himself any rest until he knew what the banshee had done to Arthur and himself and whether or not it was permanent.

The entire confrontation with the creature was a blur to him. He remembered hitting the tree and the black spots that had exploded across his vision. He had lain there, semi-conscious, listening to what the banshee was doing to his friend. He felt worthless in that moment and the first jagged tendrils of doubt had begun to seep into his mind. What if he wasn't strong enough to defeat Arawn? What if the banshee was right and he would only bring misery upon those he loved by attempting to change their fates?

His head had throbbed nastily as if berating him for his doubt and Merlin was suddenly dragged back into full consciousness. He couldn't open his eyes yet, but the tingling in his hands and the dead weight of his legs seemed to be easing. He could hear Arthur talking, voice shaking and hitching with what sounded to Merlin like cold. The banshee answered him in a voice that grated against Merlin's nerve endings like a dull blade against a grinding stone.

He had managed to open his eyes, but moving still seemed out of the question. Every time he so much as shifted his weight pain exploded through his head, so sharp and so violent that he nearly passed out again. He could dimly make out Arthur's last words before the night air was suddenly split by the banshee's keening scream.

Merlin clapped his hands over his ears, the sound of it cleaving his head in two. If he thought the pain had been overwhelming before he was all but swept away by the tide of it now. It seemed to echo in his head, a never-ending cacophony of shrieks so shrill it would shatter glass. He grit his teeth against the agony of the banshee's cries and lifted his head up enough that he could barely make out the writhing form of his king.

Arthur was hurting. Arthur was hurting and he had to stop it. That was all he knew, all he cared about. His pain didn't matter if it meant putting an end to his friends, his comfort and safety meant nothing if Arthur was in danger.

"No," he heard himself growl, straining to get to his feet, his magic boiling in his blood.

For the first time in a long time, Merlin was afraid of what he was, at how easy he could manipulate the powers inside him. He could feel his fury, white hot and dangerous, flowing through his veins, lending him strength. He wanted to destroy her, obliterate the creature that dared to hurt his friend. She knew nothing! He had changed fate before and he would do so again, regardless of her warnings. He would not allow her to seed doubt in his soul, in Arthur's soul.

Without even realizing what he had done Merlin screamed out a spell. The words had been vicious and deadly, the magic behind it even more so. He could feel his anger leave him as the magic swept across the forest floor like brilliant white flames. He'd had to shield his eyes from the intense radiance of it and he did not get to see what happened when the full force of his power slammed into the banshee. He had heard her haunting awful scream cut off suddenly as if she'd had a rope pulled tight around her throat and then the flash of light disappeared taking the banshee with it.

A wave of exhaustion had washed over him then and it was all Merlin could do to stay on his feet. The ground seemed to undulate wildly beneath his boots and he could feel his stomach churning with such ferocity that he was surprised he had not hurled all over the dirt. His ears were ringing and for a while he could hear nothing else, even when Arthur had called out his name in the frantic tones of a dying man.

"Arthur," he said, collapsing to his knees beside his friend. "Arthur, answer me."

He was relieved to see Arthur's eyes open, but for reasons he could not define he felt something was off about them. They didn't seem to be focused on anything in particular and they certainly weren't looking at him. And why wasn't the king answering him?

"Arthur," he repeated, giving his friend a tentative shake for good measure. "Prat, answer me!"

He watched in amazement as Arthur's mouth moved, but no sound reached him. All he could hear was the incessant ringing in his skull, the clamoring bells wreaking havoc in his eardrums. He shook his head and pointed to his ears trying to inform his king of his sudden lack of hearing. Merlin hoped that the hearing loss wasn't permanent, but his mind suddenly flashed back to a passage in one of Gaius' books he'd read long ago.

According to the book, a banshee's scream was meant only for the ears of the damned and any other man who heard it was struck deaf. A pit formed in his stomach and he felt the gorge rise in his throat. He could feel Arthur's relentless tugging on his shirt sleeve and managed to swallow his fear long enough to make sure his king was safe.

He could see Arthur mouthing something over and over again and it seemed to Merlin that with every passing repetition he was getting more frantic. The warlock struggled to concentrate on the movement of Arthur's lips, but could not understand what his friend was trying to convey to him.

"Arthur," he said, or thought he'd said. "Arthur, I can't hear anything. I don't know what you are trying to tell me."

If they had been in any other situation the expression on Arthur's face would have been quite comical, but as it was Merlin couldn't find the will to laugh. His king clapped his hands over his eyes and gripped his hair with his fingers so tightly that Merlin was afraid he would rip it from his scalp. When his face finally reappeared from beneath his fists, Arthur took a deep breath and sat up, clutching onto Merlin's neckerchief so tightly Merlin felt like he was in a hangman's noose. He must have gagged slightly because Arthur immediately released him and put a hand out, tentatively grasping at whatever his fingers came into contact with.

Merlin watched him try to regain his bearings with mounting horror. The king's eyes still hadn't focused and he stared straight ahead, arms out before him trying to make sure he did not collide with anything. It was then Merlin realized what Arthur had been trying to tell him.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered. "Are you…can you see where I am?"

Arthur stopped and turned his head in the general direction of Merlin's voice and shook his head. Merlin could see the terror in his friend's eyes and imagined that if Arthur had been able to he would have seen the same terror reflected in Merlin's.

That had been two hours ago and Arthur still had not regained any of his vision. Merlin had busied himself with preparing somewhere relatively safe for them to sleep and attempting to bandage his head wound. It had bled profusely and the entire left side of his face and a good deal of his neckerchief was sticky with blood. He felt around the puckered edges of the gash and knew instantly that it was deep and required more attention than he could give it. Of course, Arthur was no help…unless Merlin wanted a needle in a place in shouldn't be.

Arthur lay upon his rucksack, staring sightlessly up at the sky. Merlin couldn't bear to look at him for very long and tried to concentrate on the fire he was making. The ringing in his ears had only recently begun to recede and Merlin was thrilled to discover that he was not entirely deaf. He could barely hear and what he could hear sounded like a far off echo, but he could carry on a conversation with his king if he wished and if Arthur shouted the entire time.

Still, until he regained his hearing he wasn't going to be much good at detecting threats. He had tried to magically enhance his vision as well so that he could see better in the dark, but the mere light of the flames had nearly blinded him. He only hoped that no other threats presented themselves tonight.

"Do you—mmphlh—they are—mmphlh—for us," Arthur asked.

"What?"

"I said, do you think they are looking for us," Arthur shouted, rolling his sightless eyes.

"Oh," Merlin replied. "They'll probably wait until morning, don't you think? Safer traveling and better light?"

"Yeah," Arthur said. "You're probably right. This is awful, Merlin. I don't…what am I going to do? I can't continue on blind."

"Don't worry about it," Merlin soothed. "You'll be fine, Arthur. Just get some sleep and when you wake up you'll be good as new."

"What if I'm not?"

"Arthur—"

"I'm being serious, Merlin. How do you know this isn't permanent? How do you know that I'll regain my vision or you'll regain your hearing?"

"I don't."

"Then don't tell me not to worry. I can't be a blind king, Merlin. I'm no good to my people that way. How am I supposed to fight for them?"

"Arthur, we shouldn't be worrying about this now. We don't even know if its permanent yet…or why its happening."

"And you," Arthur shouted, on a roll. "Why is it that you are regaining your hearing quicker than I am my sight?"

"I would assume it's because of what I am."

Arthur was quiet for a long moment. Merlin only knew this because he kept his eyes firmly fixated upon his king's lips.

"About that," Arthur said. "What are you exactly, Merlin?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"How do you know I heard you? I'm practically deaf, remember?"

"I know because of the girly offended tone you answered me with. But, just in case I'm wrong, let me repeat my question a little bit louder. What are you?"

"Well," Merlin said grimly, aware of the giant metaphorical waterfall Arthur was heading towards. "I'm a lot of things. A warlock, for one. A charming servant to a prattish king. A son. A man. A—"

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"A man, Merlin. Are you a man?"

"Yes."

"A mortal one?"

"Arthur…"

"Answer me," Arthur growled threateningly.

"Or you'll what? If you hadn't noticed you are slightly limited on options, sire."

"Nobody likes a smartass."

"Smartass is such an ugly word. I prefer cheeky."

"Fine. You're a right cheeky bastard, Merlin. Now, answer my question."

"Hmmm," Merlin said, stalling for time. "You've asked me a lot of questions in our time together. How am I supposed to know the right one?"

"Merlin," Arthur sighed, covering his eyes with his hands. "I'm asking you to be honest with me. The banshee said that there was something I don't know and—"

"And you believed her?"

"What else am I supposed to believe, Merlin? I never know if I am getting the whole truth with you."

"That's not fair, Arthur. I—"

"Isn't it? You lied to me about your magic, you lied to me about my father, you lied about where you were going to be on the night of the battle with the demons. I don't know what else I am supposed to think. She called you a son of the gods, Merlin. Why? Why would she say that?"

"Arthur," Merlin pleaded. " Drop this. Please…I don't want to lie to you."

"Then don't," Arthur replied stonily.

"You won't like the truth."

"I rarely do with you."

"Arthur…"

"Whatever it is I can handle it," Arthur said.

"I wish I could believe that," Merlin sighed. "Its all so complicated, Arthur. More complicated than you can even begin to realize."

"Merlin."

"Yes?"

"Are you a mortal man?"

Merlin stared at him from across the small fire and did not answer for a long moment. He wasn't ready to have this discussion…he wasn't ready to admit what might happen if they succeeded in their quest and for the first time since Merlin had met Ceridwen he realized he hadn't been protecting Arthur at all. He had been protecting himself.

The very thought of being ripped from Arthur's side made him feel empty and hollow. As long as he kept his secret to himself it was like the possibility of that happening didn't exist. The moment he spoke the truth, the moment the words crossed his lips he could no longer lie to himself. He could no longer pretend that he was human…that he was normal.

"No," he finally whispered.

"I see," Arthur said.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"I don't know what to say, Merlin. I'm—well, to be honest I am not entirely surprised."

"You aren't?"

"No. If you had asked me two weeks ago whether I thought you were mortal I would have given you a definite yes, but…"

"But?"'

"But after I saw what you did in the demon war I began to wonder. The power you threw around, Merlin. I've—I've never seen anything like it in my life. And then you told me about your journey to Avalon and it sort of clicked in my head."

"And you're ok with that?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I'd be crazy to decline a god's help."

"I'm not exactly a god, Arthur. I'm…I don't really even know what I am."

"Not a god. Not a man. You don't really belong anywhere, do you Merlin?"

Merlin was glad his king could not see the hurt that flashed across his face at Arthur's words. His friend had never really understood what it was like being different from everyone around you. He'd been surrounded by like-minded souls since the day he was born, but Merlin…Merlin had always been alone. Even his own mother had never truly understood the connection her son felt to the world around him or the magical energy he saw in something as simple as a ripple of water across a still pond.

"I suppose not," Merlin said quietly.

"Why wouldn't you tell me? What reason would you have to keep it from me?"

"I didn't…I was scared of what you'd think of me."

"I don't care what you are, Merlin. All I care about is what you do with the power you're given."

"With great power comes great responsibility," Merlin whispered.

"What?"

"Just something my mother used to say. Arthur, I have to tell you something. It wasn't fair of me to keep it a secret from you and…and I hope you can forgive me."

"Go on," Arthur said, trying to rearrange his features into a cool, neutral mask.

Merlin felt like there was giant rock stuck in his throat and he had to swallow multiple times before he could force the words from his lips. Yet, as difficult as it was, he knew that Arthur had a right to know…even if it hurt them both.

"When we get to Avalon," he said slowly. "If…if we succeed in our quest…you'll be returning to Camelot a healed man."

"Yes," Arthur replied. "I already knew that, Merlin."

"What I meant to say," Merlin amended, blowing a breath out from between his lips. "Is that you will be returning to Camelot, but…but I won't be coming with you."

Arthur's face froze and his whole body seemed to stop moving all at once, like he'd suddenly been turned to stone. The only indication that he'd even heard Merlin was the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

"Don't joke," Arthur said finally. "Don't even joke about that, Merlin. Of course you'll be coming back with me."

"I didn't want to believe it either," Merlin said softly. "But, Ceridwen…she told me that once our quest was done I was to return to Avalon. I have no choice, Arthur. I—"

"No," Arthur shouted. "I told you that it wasn't funny, Merlin. You don't get to just…no…I won't let you leave like that."

"I don't want to leave, Arthur! I swear! I have tried everything to find a way out of this, but I can't."

"You can't have tried very hard," Arthur spat.

"What?" Merlin gasped. "Arthur, please try and understand—"

"Understand? You want me to understand? You're leaving me, Merlin. Now that you're an immortal I'm not good enough for you, is that it?"

"Arthur, please. I am trying to explain to you."

"I don't want to hear your excuses, Merlin. Just…just let me go to sleep. I'm suddenly very tired."

"Arthur," Merlin pleaded. "Please—"

"I said goodnight, Merlin."

And with that he turned on his side and refused to say no more. Merlin felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He had seen this conversation going a hundred different ways, but this was not one of them. Why was Arthur so angry with him? He had to know that Merlin didn't want to leave, didn't he?

Merlin stared at the fire until the flames had burned down to nothing more than a warm gentle glow in the hearth. His ears were still ringing and his head throbbed worse than it had before. He felt lost and hopeless. How were they going to get through their quest when, after only two days, they were already at each other's throats? Or…at least Arthur was at his throat. As for Merlin, he wasn't entirely sure where he stood with his king and that scared him more than anything.

"I'm sorry," Merlin whispered before closing his own eyes and slipping into sleep.

Merlin dreamed that night. For once, it was not of the Darkness that had ripped into his soul and broken his mind. This night it was of red-scaled snakes in the night, fangs dripping with poison, slithering upon bellies of darkest gold. There were two of them, a matching set for the two slumbering men they had been sent to ensnare.

He could sense someone, something lurking. It was a presence he had felt before and when he opened his eyes he found Ceridwen waiting for him. Her face was solemn, but her eyes were wide in alarm.

"Wake up," she urged him. "Wake up, Emrys, for all is not well. The seeds of discord have already been sewn. The war god knows of your presence and seeks to destroy you and the man you call king. He will turn you against each other if he can. Wake up, Emrys! Before all is lost! Wake up!"

But, he did not wake up. Instead he watched as the red snake rose from the dirt and struck. He did not recognize the sweet sting of fangs in his throat or the way anger and hatred coiled in his belly. In his dream, he had woken and, like a ghost in the night, crept over to where Arthur lay, watching as the second snake bit deep into his king's flesh.

Merlin could hear his king's heart laboring for life. He could hear the man's breath whistling through his lungs. It wasn't until Arthur's heart stopped completely that the snakes disappeared back into the grass. It wasn't until his king breathed no more that Merlin looked up to see a man dressed in black staring at him from across the field.

It wasn't until Arthur was dead that Merlin smiled.


	8. Break Up Songs of the Dark Ages

**Author's Note: **_This chapter took FOREVER to write and I worked really hard on it so REVIEWS would be appreciated. Merlini, I dedicate this chapter to you and I hope it is all you hoped it would be. Also, if Spangley Pony and RocknVaugn are still reading I would love to know what you guys think._

Awen of the Fairfolk understood very little about the mortal world and those who inhabited it. The world of men was as different from hers as night and day and she frequently found herself astounded by their various day-to-day actions. She often liked to watch them come and go in the markets of Camelot, hidden upon her perch in the windowsill of an old and rather sickly shopkeeper who specialized in fine cloths and jewelry. The elderly man had become something of a friend to her and did not seem to mind her rather inhuman appearance or the fact that she spoke his native tongue so strangely.

So, with his blessing, she watched and she learned. Or she attempted to, at least. There were moments she found herself so dazzled by the actions of the people below her that she would have to ponder the meaning behind their seemingly thoughtless gestures for hours. It was as if she were watching a dance that everyone knew the steps for but her.

Arthur had attempted to school her in the ways of noblemen and royalty, but she grew increasingly dumbfounded at the many ridiculous mannerisms she was expected to adhere to. She could not leave her spoon in her soup bowl unless she wanted to offend her guests and if she desired to spit at the table, which she most certainly did not, she was required to cover her mouth to do so. She wondered if Arthur had merely been playing a joke on her to see if she would actually expectorate at the dinner table, but Gwen had laughingly informed her that her husband was being quite serious.

Even stranger to her was the fact that she was expected to stand until Arthur and Guinevere had taken their seats. This particular rule was only obeyed during the many balls and feasts they were required to attend and Arthur seemed to only do so grudgingly. He seemed to hate it even more than Awen did, but he plastered his silly king smile that she had come to recognize so well on his face and bore it with all the graciousness of a swan…albeit a rather ruffled and miserable one.

She could not eat until the king and queen had begun doing so and was often assisted in the daunting task of breaking her own bread by the nobleman sitting beside her. The first time she had attended a dinner party she had simply sat and politely reached for the small basket of bread upon the table, going about her business as she might usually do. It wasn't until she felt Merlin's gentle tug on her sleeve that she looked up and saw the many disgusted or pitying glances of the court. Arthur, of course, was trying hard not to laugh and only managed to do so after Guinevere politely trod on his foot.

"You have to wait," Merlin whispered to her.

"For what?"

"For Arthur and Gwen to sit," Merlin said.

"Why?"

"I don't know," Merlin frowned. "Its just…what we do."

"Well, that seems silly."

"It may seem silly to you," a haughty voice came from near the front of the table. "But these are our ways, woman, and you would do well to abide by them."

Awen watched in alarm as Merlin opened his mouth to say something that was most likely insulting and would most likely get him into trouble, but Arthur rushed to his defense…and hers.

"This is my guest, Lord Yamish," he growled. "And you would do well to watch your tongue in her presence. Her question is a valid one. I find such customs ridiculous, pompous, and arrogant. There is no reason to lord my power over another in such a openly mocking manner."

"Your father never would have abided by such insolence," Yamish spat.

"I am not my father," Arthur said softly, tones low and dangerous. "But, if you enjoy his company so much I would be more than happy to help you join him."

The vile man Yamish had little to say to that and the dinner had gone on as if nothing had happened. She had watched Merlin and Arthur dance around each other with a grace and charm she had not believed possible from them. Each seemed to know exactly what was required of them and each used one another to add an element of laughter to the evening. She had not been bothered again and had quickly strived to learn what she could for any feasts there might have been in the future.

In the six months since she had left Eryr Cadw, she had watched humanity rise and fall. She watched their capacity for greatness, their ability to create wonders of such beauty that the gods themselves would weep. She learned of their kindness and their loyalty, their bravery in battle and their unspoken loyalty to their fellow man. She read books about the great expanses of tangled forests and jagged mountain ranges that man had conquered. She listened to tales and songs of great kings and even great adventurers. Awen learned so much in such a short time that she felt her head might explode, but still she knew there was more to see, more to understand.

There were only three things she knew she had seen that could never and would never be found anywhere else. Regardless of the centuries that passed and the civilizations that rose and fell away, there would never be another like them. The first was Arthur, the once and future king, a man brave, loyal, and true. A man who would create such an era of peace and posterity that bards would sing of him until the end of time, a man who others would follow into hell itself without question and without hesitation. The second was Merlin, the warlock destined to stand beside Arthur and become the king's very salvation. A man who had no limitations when friendship and brotherhood were on the line, a man who loved unconditionally and was so unerringly loyal he would face a thousand deaths before betraying one he called friend. A man who held the power of the world in the palm of his hands, the very fabric of reality at his fingertips, and still managed to be humble and true.

The third was their friendship. She had seen with her own eyes what the two men were willing to do for one another and she was sure that she would never see a companionship like the one they shared for as long as she lived. The forces connecting them were formed by a magic that was unseen and unheard of within the mortal world. An equal mix of push and pull, ebb and flow, dark and light. They were apart of each other and she knew that bond between them could never be broken. No matter how dark the days ahead, no matter how desperate their days would become, Arthur and Merlin would still be the light in the darkness.

Which was why, after spending a night overcome with worry and a morning frantically searching for the lost men, she was shocked and surprised to find them fighting. Rather intensely.

It certainly was the last thing she had ever expected to see. Awen had watched the men bicker enough times, but it had always held the undertones of an exasperated fondness, an almost imperceptible glee in the insults they traded. She had never witnessed them truly furious with one another and if the looks on the knight's faces were anything to go by neither had they. Of course, if Arthur hadn't been yelling at the top of his lungs they may never have found the two men so Awen couldn't entirely begrudge the king for ranting so loudly.

She had found little sleep the night her warlock and his king disappeared from their road weary group. Awen had watched the two of them vanishing into the tree line and had felt such a sharp, piercing panic fill her stomach she gasped aloud and had to sit down. There was no reason for her to feel such an emotion. They were only going hunting after all, but still the jagged anxiety remained and no matter what she did she could not shake her worries from her mind.

The Fair Folk woman had assisted her fellow knights in assisting camp with all the vivaciousness of a dead woman and she frequently found herself being studied by watchful and concerned eyes. None of her fellow travelers chose to voice their concerns however until camp was made and a roaring fire soothed their aching feet.

"My lady," Elyan said softly from across the fire. "You seem troubled. Is something wrong?"

"I—I'm…its nothing," Awen said not wanting to feel foolish. "Just travelers nerves I am sure."

"Doubtful," Gwain snorted.

"Excuse me?"

"I think what Gwain is trying to say is that you aren't exactly the type to get 'travelers nerves'," Percival said. "And we all know…well…"

"Yes?" Awen asked.

"We all know the uncanny connection you share with a certain warlock," Gwain grunted. "You read his mind or something, right?"

"I don't read anyone's mind, Sir Gwain," Awen laughed. "And certainly not Merlin's."

"But you are connected with him," Elyan urged.

"Yes," Awen said slowly. "I feel Merlin's presence in a way I have not felt anyone else."

"How does that work exactly," Bedwyr asked, chewing an apple from his pack thoughtfully. "Can you talk to him? Communicate with him?"

"Sometimes," Awen replied, trying to think of a way to explain her relationship with the warlock. "Or…he communicates with me. I don't have the ability to project my thoughts like he does."

"I thought only Druids could hear thoughts," Gwain said.

"I think Merlin learned it from the Druids," Awen explained. "But, if he opens his mind to mine then I can speak with him. Otherwise, its…its emotions and…I don't know…him."

"Him?" Gwain asked. "What does that even mean?"

"I've never had to explain this before," Awen sighed. "I can feel his pain…not emotional pain, but physical pain…or at least I could…before he figured out a way to shut me out. I could feel his power, know his past, and know the love he feels for the world around him. I just felt…well, like I said I felt him."

"But you can't anymore?" Bedwyr questioned.

"I can," Awen answered. "But, only if he wishes me to. Before he learned how to keep me in the dark I could sense when he was lying or when he was in pain, but now…now I'm just as clueless as the rest of you."

"So," Gwain mused. "It obviously isn't Merlin you are upset about. So what is it?"

"I am not upset," Awen scoffed, trying to ignore the pit of nerves settling in her stomach.

"Well something is wrong," Elyan replied. "You've been quiet all evening, my lady."

"And you've had this pinched look on your face like you caught a giant whiff of Percival's dirty socks," Gwain informed her.

"Tactful as ever, Gwain," Elyan sighed, rolling his eyes as Percival punched the wandering knight in the shoulder.

"Well," Awen said lightly. "Apart from smelling Sir Percival's socks I am quite alright, Elyan. Its just a feeling I have. I am sure its nothing."

"Every time someone says that it is nothing it turns out to be something," Bedwyr mused.

"The lad has a point," Percival grunted. "Maybe there is nothing to it, but what if there is?"

"Tell us about it, my lady," Elyan urged.

"I just don't feel right," Awen whispered, shrugging her slender shoulders. "Ever since Arthur and Merlin left camp I've felt like something awful was going to happen to them. Silly, isn't it?"

"Not entirely," Elyan frowned. "Feelings such as these have proved correct before…especially when it comes to those two."

"What?" Awen asked, startled. "When?"

"Before Merlin met you," Percival said. "He was dying from the griffin attack and Gwen felt something was wrong. She knew that Arthur and Merlin were in danger, but she didn't know how she knew. We almost didn't believe her, but when we went looking for them we found Merlin's shirt, all torn up and bloody."

"So you think my concerns are valid?" Awen asked, heart leaping into her throat. "You think I should be worried?"

"I'm sure they are fine," Elyan soothed. "They'll watch out after one another and with the two of them side by side I'm not sure even the devil would be able to best them."

"It was just a hunting trip," Gwain agreed. "I'm sure they'll be back soon."

But they weren't back soon. Awen paced anxiously by the tree line and watched with mounting concern as the sun sank ever lower in the sky. The knights tried to engage her in conversation, keep her mind far from the two men she had come to love, but she would not be dissuaded from her position at the edge of the forest.

"My lady," Bedwyr called to her. "My lady, Percival prepared a lovely stew for dinner tonight."

"Percival has already made dinner?" she replied sharply. "I thought we were waiting for Arthur and Merlin to return with meat."

"We got hungry," Bedwyr shrugged. "I'm sure they'll understand."

"But where are they?" Awen asked. "It will be dark soon, Bedwyr. They should have returned by now."

"I'm sure they are fine," the young knight assured her. "You should eat, my lady. It will help settle your nerves."

"I don't want to eat," she replied. "We should go look for them."

"That would not be wise," Elyan told her gently. "The forest will soon be too dark to traverse and it is dangerous to travel at night, my lady. We would be far better off to wait for them."

"And if they don't return?" Awen asked. "What then?"

"They'll return," Bedwyr said softly. "Don't fret, my lady."

"I'm not a lady," Awen sniffed.

"Oh," Gwain said, eyeing her appreciatively. "I beg to differ."

"Gwain," Elyan scolded.

"What?" the knight exclaimed. "I was paying her a compliment."

"I don't think leering counts as a compliment," Percival pointed out.

"It does in some countries," Gwain replied, turning to Bedwyr. "Doesn't it, little knight?"

"Who are you calling little?" Bedwyr growled.

"You," Gwain said, grinning wickedly.

Awen watched them bicker and banter with growing frustration. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that something was wrong. She could feel it in the air, a sort of greasy, cold vibration that settled against her skin. The very smell of the air, rotten and festering, fueled the fire of unease in her belly. There was something ancient and dark in these woods, something that sought to do the men she loved harm.

She looked up at the night sky and was horrified to see the last vestiges of sunlight disappear behind the mountains. If the knights could not travel in the dark then the young king and his companion would be waylaid by it as well. She wanted to pull her hair out in frustration as she realized how useless she was in saving her warlock from the threat, imagined or not.

"Stop bickering," she snapped at the knights. "Its dark and they aren't back yet. Something is wrong."

"We don't know that," Percival said in an attempt to sooth her troubled mind.

It was that moment an inhuman scream rent across the night sky like thunder. The sound was so sharp in Awen's ears that she clapped her hands to her head and winced as the shrill shriek grew higher in pitch and ever louder in volume. She had heard that sound only once before, but it was not forgettable then and it certainly wasn't forgettable now.

"What is that?" Bedwyr screamed.

"A banshee," Awen cried.

"She sounds like my sister did on her wedding night," Gwain shouted, his stocky frame bent over with his arms around his head.

"Your depravity knows no bounds, Gwain," Elyan yelled.

"Gods, make it stop," Bedwyr shouted. "How do we make it stop?"

Perhaps the young knight's words reached across the vast expanse of forest and ended the creatures shrieking tirade. Perhaps the banshee had delivered the message of blood and death. Whatever the reason the forest suddenly went still, the night air silent as the grave. There was no cheery chirp of crickets, no mournful howls of wolves in the night, no flutter of moth wings or crackle of flame and wood. Silence. Complete and deceiving in its clarity.

"Good hell," Gwain muttered, rising from his defensive crouch upon the ground. "I pity the poor bastard that was on the receiving end of that message."

"Is it done?" Bedwyr asked. "Is it over?"

"Its over," Elyan answered. "The creature has woven her song of death. Be grateful you were not there to witness it."

"How do you know?" Percival asked. "What if its just…I don't know…taking a breath or something?"

"Its not," Elyan replied. "I've dealt with a banshee or two in my time away from Camelot. This is not the first time I have heard its devilish scream…or seen the men who have been on the receiving end of it."

"What do you mean?" Awen asked, heart in her throat. "I've heard a banshee's scream once. In the forests of my homeland…where the souls of mortals are tested, but I have never seen one."

"The banshee gives visions of death," Elyan explained. "It forces the victim to witness their own destruction…over and over. The legend says that a man who truly believes in the destiny he's been given, is truly content with the man he is and the life he leads, will not be affected by a banshee's cry."

"And the others?" Bedwyr asked breathlessly. "What happens to them?"

"The tale varies," Elyan said. "In some the men who witness their deaths go mad, in others men go blind, unwilling to face the path in front of them, unconfident in their ability to alter their fate."

"I don't understand," Percival grunted. "How can being unconfident in yourself cause a man to go blind?"

"Not sure," Elyan told him. "Some say it isn't blindness at all, but an unwillingness to see the obstacles that lie before them, as if the soul deceives the eyes into darkness."

"So it can be fixed?" Awen asked. "Its not permanent?"

"Depends I suppose," Elyan replied.

"On?" Gwain said.

"On the man," Elyan answered. "It is not something magic can fix because it is not a physical wound, not a failing of the body, but a failing of the mind. It is up to the person the banshee sang to as to whether or not they regain their vision."

"But that's it?"Awen asked. "It only affects the man who the banshee sings to?"

"No," Elyan frowned. "Anyone who is near when the banshee cries goes deaf. A song of such ancient power is not meant for anyone other than who it was sang to. Each song is different for each person. Her very voice is crafted from the life force of the victim."

"So we're going to go deaf?" Gwain exclaimed. "We won't be able to hear?"

"We were far enough away for there to be no lasting damage," Elyan told him, watching Awen's face closely. "What is it, my lady?"

"Merlin is out there," Awen whispered. "And Arthur…what if…Elyan, what if the banshee's song was meant for one of them?"

"I'm sure they are fine," Elyan soothed, but Awen could see the lines of worry reflected in his face.

"I don't think so," Awen said softly. "Oh, Elyan, I really don't think so."

That night had been the most sleepless night of her life. She had tossed and turned restlessly and had finally given up any hopes of slumber long before night had released its hold on the world. She watched the stars shimmer in the sky and prayed to any god that would listen to her that the two men of Camelot would be safe. They planned to break camp in the early hours of the morning and look for them, but the dawn was not coming soon enough for the Fair Folk woman.

By the time the first tendrils of sunlight slunk lazily across the sky, Awen felt as if she were going mad. She all but pounced on the knights in a desperate attempt to get them up and moving and was rewarded with groans of discomfort from most of them and a cheery invitation to join him in bed from Gwain.

It took them close to an hour to finally break camp and begin following the tiny trail Arthur and Merlin had left for them. It was clear that Arthur had been in true hunting form that day for barely a leaf had been stirred nor twig broken. If it hadn't been for Percival's sharp eyes and the revolting trail of blood, feathers and fur Arthur's kills had left behind they may have traveled in circles for hours before finding the right path.

Even with the trail, however, there was no sign of the two men. The hours crept by and Awen's stomach writhed even more nervously then before. It wasn't until almost mid-day that they heard Arthur's disgruntled bass drifting through the trees and Awen's heart leaped at the sound.

"Merlin," she breathed, kicking her horse lightly into greater speeds. "Merlin, I'm coming!"

She galloped into the clearing, heedless of any obstacles that might be in her way. Her eyes sought his own and she felt tears of relief swimming in her eyes when she finally found him. He was staring at her, mouth open in a slight 'o' of shock, but he grinned when he finally recovered and she leapt from atop her horse and into his arms.

"Merlin," she cried, kissing any part of his face she could reach. "I was so worried about you. You didn't return and I had this horrible feeling and…Merlin, there was a banshee."

"I know, I know," Merlin soothed, hugging her tight. "I'm alright, Awen. We're safe."

"Arthur," she questioned, pulling back to look at him. "Is he—"

"He's fine," Merlin snapped, face darkening strangely.

"Merlin," Awen whispered, confused. "Is everything all right?"

Merlin opened his mouth to answer, a strange and bitter smile quirking his lips, but before he could the pair were interrupted by the sudden appearance of the knights who galloped into the clearing in a stream of red and gold.

"Merlin," Gwain exclaimed. "Glad to see you alive, old friend. I would say I was worried about you, but my mother told me it was a sin to lie."

"Good to see you to, Gwain," Merlin laughed.

"How's the Princess?"

"A prat," Merlin said. "As usual."

The words that crossed his lips were not in any way unusual. Awen and the knights had heard Merlin call Arthur a prat more times than they could count. It was the way the warlock said it that gave them pause. There was a venom in his words Awen had not heard before and his eyes darkened upon mention of the king.

"Merlin is just upset because I'm king and he's not," Arthur said from behind them.

Awen turned to face her friend and was surprised to see Elyan and Bedwyr assisting the king as if he were an old man. She studied Arthur's face and bit back a cry of shock as she realized the young man could not see. She had been right all along…the banshee was after them.

"Arthur," she whispered, touching her hand to his face. "Oh, Arthur, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Arthur told her. "Its his fault anyways."

"Whose fault?" Awen asked, confused.

"Merlin's," Arthur snapped.

"Oh, here we go again," Merlin snarled. "Why is it that whenever something bad happens you blame me, Arthur? Why can't you just admit you aren't strong enough to handle things without my help?"

"Merlin," Awen gasped. "What on earth has gotten into you?"

"He has," Merlin shouted. "All I've ever done for him is save his miserable life…all I've ever done is try and be his friend—"

"Who said I wanted to be your friend?" Arthur interrupted. "Did I say that? No, I don't think I did, Merlin. There you go again…making wild assumptions."

Awen threw a startled glance at Percival and Gwain who were standing behind her with their mouths open. She had never heard them talk to each other like this, never heard them insult each other with such vehemence. What in the name of the gods was going on?

"You are such an ass," Merlin yelled. "I don't know how I managed to put up with you for all these years. How I got up every morning and looked at your face."

"As if I wanted you to," Arthur snarled. "All you ever were was an inconvenience. You never could do anything right, Merlin. Never! You were lazy, incompetent, idiotic, stupidly dressed, sloppy and quite possibly the worst servant I've ever had."

"Arthur," Awen cried. "You don't mean that!"

"Oh, I do," Arthur told her. "I've never meant anything more in my whole life."

"Fine," Merlin muttered, digging in the depths of his shirt and pulling the ring Arthur had given to him from around his neck. "You don't want me around, is that it?"

"I want you gone," Arthur shouted. "I have no use for you anymore, Merlin."

"Fine," Merlin repeated, bowing low in mock respect. "Your wish is my command, sire."

With that Merlin threw his ring in the dirt and stomped off, not giving Arthur or his crew of knights a second glance. Awen could hear him ranting and raving, but could not seem to get past her initial shock long enough to stop him.

"Wait," she finally cried, rushing after him. "Merlin, this is madness! I don't know what is going on between you two, but…its crazy! Come back."

"No," Merlin snarled, turning to face her. "The only madness is that I dealt with him for so long, Awen. I am done being his scapegoat. I am done being his friend."

"You don't mean that," she cried. "Merlin, think about this for a moment and you'll see that something is horribly wrong here. You've been enchanted or…I don't know for sure, Merlin, but this is wrong."

"You're on his side then?"

"What? Merlin, I never said that—"

"Its really simple, Awen. Me or him."

"Merlin, this is crazy. Stop and think about—"

"Make your choice, Awen."

"You can't ask me to do that. I won't."

"Then you've made it already," Merlin said bitterly.

"Merlin," Awen pleaded. "Please, think about what you are doing. I am sure you two can work whatever this is out. He needs you…and you need hi—"

"I don't," Merlin hissed. "I don't need him for anything, Awen. He has done nothing but hold me down. He has always resented me for having more power than he does."

"That's not true," Awen whispered. "Merlin, you know that's not true. Just…just look in your heart and you'll see that this is wrong."

"No," Merlin said with a smile. "You are the one that is wrong, Awen. I have looked in my heart and for the first time I see what he has made me into. I would have died for him and he…he just threw that in my face like it was nothing. Why would I want to serve a king like that?"

"Myrddin," Awen said. "Don't leave."

"Come with me," he told her. "Come with me, Awen, and we can have amazing adventures and—"

"I can't," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes at the expression on his face. "Myrddin, I can't go with you."

"Why not?" Merlin croaked. "I thought you loved me, Awen."

"Oh, Merlin. I do! I love you more than anything, but—"

"You love Arthur more," Merlin whispered dejectedly.

"Gods," Awen shouted. "Merlin, listen to yourself. I love Arthur more than you? That is madness and you know it. There is something wrong with you, Myrddin. Some dark magic that has taken hold of you. There has to be."

"No," Merlin replied, shaking his head. "For the first time my eyes are open to the tyrant Arthur Pendragon is and I won't be a part of his life anymore. Even if you will."

With that the young warlock turned on his heel and did not look back at her. She felt a sorrow in her chest so over whelming she almost fainted. How could he think she did not love him? How could he just leave Arthur without a second glance? How could he give up on his king so easily?

"Myrddin," she yelled after him. "Please!"

Merlin turned to look back at her once, but the expression on his face was not one of sudden clarity or doubt. It was one of hurt and anger…and as his eyes met hers she saw a reflection of something in his twin pools of blue. There was a figure there, standing still and silent in robes of deepest ebony. It seemed to her as if the figure were standing directly behind her, but when she turned her head there was no one there. She went to look back Merlin, but the reflection was gone and so was the warlock it belonged to.


	9. Don't Get Mad! Get Glad!

**Author's Note: **_Annnnnnnndddd I'm back. Sorry for the long, long, long delay. I have been running around like a mad woman and trying to work on all the ideas flying around in my head. That and I went surfing over the weekend and when I got home I was POOPED. Merlini, please, please, please don't be mad at me for taking so long. Congrats on Berkeley, by the way. She'll love it. I will reply to you ASAP. Anyways, here is the next chapter. PLEASE REVIEW and ENJOY!_

Arthur remembered the day of his coronation like it was yesterday. It hadn't really been that long since he'd donned his father's crown. Two years, in fact, but with everything that had happened since then two years seemed like ten. In those days all he'd wanted was to make his father proud, to prove that Uther's hope for a land without magic was not a fool's dream. Of course, that had all been before Arthur's world had been ripped apart by a certain warlock with a knack for trouble.

The day he took his father's crown had been the most nerve-wracking day of his short life. His fingers has trembled as he'd fastened the button on his ceremonial cloak and he'd had to ask for so many cups of water to moisten his bone dry mouth that Merlin had eventually just stood there with the jug in his hands, unusually quiet and reserved. The young servant had been a pillar of strength that day and although Arthur would never admit it he seriously doubted he would have made it without him.

It wasn't like Merlin had done anything particularly special or even anything he hadn't done on a daily basis. In those days, Merlin's strength hadn't been his magic, but his kindness and his loyalty. He had spoken very little to Arthur in the few hours they had together before he'd taken his last steps as prince of Camelot, but somehow he'd managed to calm Arthur's nerves in a way that only Merlin could.

"Your hands are shaking," he'd said quietly, watching Arthur attempt to button up his shirt. "Let me help."

"I've got it, Merlin."

It didn't take him long to realize, however, that he did not have it. Every time he tried to fasten his buttons his shaking, sweaty fingers slipped on the shiny glass beads. In a fit of nervous energy, grief and frustration he ripped the buttons from his shirt and threw them to the floor as if they were the ones responsible for his current predicament. He expected a biting remark from his servant, but the young man remained silent as if waiting for the prince to rip him into pieces as well.

"Don't say a word," Arthur growled needlessly, aching for something to say.

"I wasn't going to," Merlin replied quietly, bending down to pick the buttons off the floor.

"How am I supposed to do this, Merlin?"

"Button your shirt? I think that is sort of a moot point now, sire."

"No, you idiot. How am I supposed to be king? I can't even button a shirt properly."

"That's ridiculous, Arthur. I've seen you button your own shirt loads of times."

"Don't be cute, Merlin."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sire."

"What am I going to do?" Arthur groaned, sitting down dejectedly in a chair by the hearth.

"I imagine you'll find a new shirt."

"That isn't what I meant," Arthur said.

"I know," Merlin replied, turning to dig through Arthur's drawers to find a clean tunic without buttons. "Arthur, you are going to do exactly what you were born to do and you were born to be a king. A great king."

"You think so?" Arthur whispered.

"I know so. The world is ready for you, Arthur Pendragon. The question is…are you man enough to face it?"

Arthur swallowed hard and glanced over at his servant. Spontaneous gestures of affection and loyalty always seemed so easy for him, but for Arthur it was a constant struggle to find the words to express himself. There were a million things he wanted to say to Merlin in that moment, a million things he wanted to express, but his tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth.

He often wondered how or why Merlin had put up with him for so long. It wasn't like he'd ever been particularly kind to the peculiar young man. When he'd first met Merlin he'd wanted to pummel the insolence out of him and to this day he wasn't sure what had stopped him. Of course, as the years had gone by Arthur quickly learned that what he had first mistook for insolence was in actuality a strong moral center, a belief that human beings should be treated with respect and dignity regardless of who they were or where they came from. Merlin cared very little that Arthur was a prince nor was he afraid to make his sentiments known to his master.

Arthur was about to open his mouth and say something meaningful, but right when he did so Geoffrey opened the door and stuck his head in. Both prince and servant looked up at the elderly man, but neither said a word.

"Sire," Geoffrey murmured. "You're not dressed?"

"No," Arthur said uncomfortably, glancing down at his shirtless chest with mild consternation. "I—uh—I had a mishap with—with the buttons."

"I see," Geoffrey said awkwardly.

"He should be ready in just a moment," Merlin called to him, head burrowed in Arthur's wardrobe as if searching for buried treasure. "I just have to find—AhHa!" He reappeared, cheeks flushed, holding a brown tunic in the air triumphantly. "You really need to organize your things, Arthur. Why do I spend all the time folding your clothes and putting them away neatly if all you are going to do is muss them all up again?"

There was no real heat in his rebuke, but Arthur hadn't expected any. In all the years the young man had been serving him he couldn't remember a time that Merlin had been truly, unforgivingly angry with him even though he'd probably deserved it more times than not. He'd seen Merlin frustrated with him, annoyed with him, hurt by him and even scared by him, but never furious with him. To be honest, Arthur wasn't even sure Merlin had the capacity to be angry and if he did he was sure the young servant wouldn't be able to stay that way for very long.

"I would hate to deprive you of something to do," Arthur replied instinctually. "You get into trouble when you're bored, Merlin."

"Believe me," Merlin deadpanned. "Life as your servant is never boring, sire. Don't exert yourself on my account."

Geoffrey glanced between the two men with an expression Arthur had grown used to seeing plastered firmly on his face. It was a common look among people who were not used to his and Merlin's unusual relationship, as if they weren't sure how to react. Half confusion, quarter shock, and quarter amusement. At first, Arthur had been offended by it, but now viewed it as an amusing sign of their strange and unorthodox friendship.

"Tell the court I'll be ready in a moment," Arthur said to Geoffrey. "Tell them my servant was running particularly slow today and apologize for my tardiness."

"Yes sire," Geoffrey murmured, exiting and shutting the door quickly behind him.

"Why do you always have to blame it on me?" Merlin asked, staring at the door the old man had just left through. "Do you know that half the court believes me to be a lazy idiot and the other half believes I was dropped on my head as a child?"

"I would have thought you'd learned by now," Arthur said, grabbing the shirt from Merlin's fists. "Its always the servant's fault. A prince can do no wrong."

"A king," Merlin corrected softly. "You're a king now, Arthur."

"A title doesn't make me a king, Merlin. I was born into this…I didn't earn it."

"And you call me the idiot," Merlin sighed theatrically.

"Excuse me?"

"Are you really this stupid? Or do you truly believe you aren't ready for this? That you don't deserve it?"

"Watch how you speak to me, Merlin."

"Arthur," Merlin said softly. "There is a time for everything and everyone. This is your time, sire. Don't be a prat and waste it on self doubt."

"I don't…I'm not…when are you going to learn that you can't speak to me that way, Merlin?"

"The moment you learn how important you are to this kingdom. Uther was their ruler…but you? You're their king, Arthur. You're the one they trust and always have trusted."

"My father was a great king," Arthur growled. "You pass him off like he was nothing and it—"

"Uther was a great king," Merlin amended. "But…but a cold one."

"You didn't know him," Arthur spat, tugging his shirt over his head so he wouldn't have to look at his servant's face. "You have no idea how much he cared about his people, Merlin."

"Yes, I do. Uther cared about his people as a whole, Arthur. You care about them as individuals…as men and women with lives and stories and futures. Can't you see the difference?"

"Why are you telling me all of this? Nobody asked for your opinion, Merlin. You speak to me as if your council is welcome. Remember your place."

Arthur instantly regretted his words and tried to ignore the flash of hurt on his servant's face. Instead of acknowledging his friend, he turned his back on him and gruffly fastened his belt around his waist. Why did Merlin have to analyze everything? His father had only been dead a day and already his servant was belittling his reign. He knew his father was a good king and nothing Merlin said to him would change his mind. Except, the more Arthur thought about it the more he realized that Merlin hadn't actually said anything bad about his father. He'd only pointed out the differences between them.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment," Merlin said so softly Arthur could barely hear him. "What this means to me, Arthur."

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked, turning to face his servant in confusion.

Merlin glanced up at him sharply and Arthur realized his servant hadn't meant for his master to hear his words. There was a brief flash of panic across his face, but the young man quickly covered it up with his signature goofy smile. It hadn't taken Arthur long to realize what Merlin was doing when he flashed him that particular grin. His servant was about to lie to him, but for what purpose he did not know.

"I didn't say anything," Merlin lied, right on cue.

"Yes, you did. You said that I had no idea how long you've waited for this moment…that it meant something to you."

"Did I? I don't remember saying—"

"You said it, Merlin. Stop pretending you didn't. Why?"

"Well," Merlin said slowly, obviously thinking up another lie. "I've always secretly wanted to be a servant to a king, sire. This moment is sort of the fulfillment of a life long dream."

"Merlin, you don't have a subservient bone in your body."

"Sure I do. I've stuck around you, haven't I?"

"For your own nefarious purposes, I'm sure."

"Nefarious?"

"Yes, it means—"

"I know what it means. I just don't know when you learned to use big words like that, sire."

"I'm not an idiot, Merlin."

"Hmmm."

"You're trying to change the subject. Why did you say that?"

"Say what?"

"Merlin, I will hurt you if I have to."

"You could, but I hardly see how that would be beneficial to your cause."

"It probably wouldn't, but it would make me feel a whole lot better."

"Are all kings this prone to violence?"

"Merlin."

"Yes?"

"Please."

It was obvious that the servant already had a witty retort in mind because his mouth had already begun to open upon his master's reply. He seemed so surprised by Arthur's response that his mouth clicked shut and he shot his king a strange and calculating glance.

"Please," Arthur repeated softly.

"Why is it you choose this moment to actually listen to what I'm saying?" Merlin sighed.

"I listen to you all—"

"It was a rhetorical question, sire."

Arthur didn't say anything and waited patiently for his friend to become uncomfortable beneath his hard gaze. Knowing Merlin this could take a very long time, but it seemed fate was on his side that morning. The young man took a deep breath and blew it out reluctantly.

"I said it because I know you, Arthur. I spend every moment of every day by your side and in that time I've learned a few things about you."

"Just a few?" Arthur said with a small smile.

"For starters you're a prat," Merlin said smugly.

"Thanks, Merlin. You really know how to inspire a—"

"But beneath that," Merlin interrupted smoothly. "You're what I've always imagined a king would be. You're brave and loyal and honest. Honorable to a fault. You care about people. Not just their lives but their happiness. I haven't served you all these years because I felt obligated, Arthur. I've served you because I wanted to, because I knew that one day you would become a king worth serving, worth calling friend. You fulfilled half of that dream a long time ago and today you fulfill the other."

Arthur had never forgotten his servant's words and even in the dark years to come he called upon them when he felt his weakest. He remembered standing in front of the court, resplendent in his heavy ceremonial robes, speaking the oaths that would make him king. He remembered finding Merlin's face in the crowd and he knew then that no matter what happened to him in the coming days his friend would remain, steadfast and true, at his side. He knew Merlin wasn't telling him everything, although at the time he never would have guessed the nature of his servant's secret, but he found that he cared very little. Whatever the young man's secret was it could never change their friendship. Never make Arthur question his trust in him. At the time, he was sure that nothing could get between them.

Except something had. Arthur felt useless in its wake and he hated it. No, that wasn't right. He hated himself for being useless…for being blind…for being the cause of a hopeless quest…for believing his quest was hopeless…and for hating himself because of it. It seemed to him that he was stuck in a never-ending cycle of hate; a cycle that would release him only when its job was complete…only when he was dead.

He'd been stuck in cycles like this before, of course, but this time it was different. This time there was no bothersome servant to pull him out of it. This time there was no irritatingly perceptive warlock to shatter Arthur's doubt. This time there was no Merlin.

Arthur wanted to pretend he wasn't bothered by this fact. He wished he could tell himself that he would be better off without Merlin intervening in his life, but there was an emptiness in his chest that no amount of wishing could fill. He hated Merlin for making him feel that way, for making him so damn dependent on the warlock. Arthur smiled grimly. His little circle of hate seemed to be growing larger by the second.

"My lord," Sir Leon said quietly, interrupting Arthur from his thoughts. "Percival made lunch. I would be more than happy to dish you—"

"I'm not hungry," Arthur said listlessly.

"But, sire—"

"I said I'm not hungry," Arthur snapped. "Just…just leave me be, Leon."

Leon muttered a reply and Arthur felt him disappear from his side. He instantly felt guilty for snapping at the knight. Arthur was angry, but he shouldn't be taking it out on his friends. He imagined that his row with Merlin put them in an awkward position and the least he could do was be respectful of that fact. They were still Merlin's friends, after all.

Arthur frowned. They were still Merlin's friends, but what did that make him? He'd told Merlin that he wanted him gone, but had he meant it? At the time it seemed like he had, but now that it was all said and done he wondered where the words had actually come from. Up until that moment the thought of Merlin leaving his side brought fear bubbling up from some black space deep inside him. He needed him, didn't he? Needed his friendship, his wisdom, his witticisms and insults. The man had kept him grounded and sane for almost a decade, had seen him through times of sorrow and loss, had fought bravely by his side for no other reason but that he cared enough to do so. So why? Why in the name of the gods had he sent him away? Arthur put his head in his hands and groaned. Warlocks made everything so damn complicated.

"Has it hit you yet?" Awen asked suddenly, appearing beside him like a ghost from the fog. Arthur didn't jump though. No, Arthur didn't jump at all.

He grimaced. Awen was the last person he wanted to talk to at the moment. Perhaps because she was the only person, besides Merlin and Gwaine, who cared very little for his title and wouldn't bother sparing his feelings.

"Has what hit me?" Arthur asked flatly, wishing he could order her to go away.

"How out of your depth you are. Merlin's gone and so is your ticket into Avalon."

He'd already thought of that. He didn't need her to remind him and he thought about telling her so…rudely. He kept his mouth shut though. Maybe if he didn't say anything she would lose interest and go away. He highly doubted it, but one could wish.

"What are you going to do about it?" Awen asked, dashing Arthur's hopes of solitude.

"I'm not going to do anything," Arthur said stonily. "I'm the king, Awen. If he wants to run I'm not going to stop him."

"You're acting like a child, Arthur."

"Like he's innocent in all this," Arthur snarled. "He's the one who left."

"Because you told him to!"

"If I told Merlin to jump off a cliff, would he do it?"

"What?"

"Just answer yes or no. If I told him to jump off a cliff would he jump?"

"Of course not."

"Then there goes your theory that Merlin does things just because I tell him to."

"Arthur," Awen pleaded. "It has to be you that finds him. It has to be you that brings him back."

"You bring him back," Arthur snapped. "He's not my problem anymore."

"I tried to bring him back, Arthur. He wouldn't listen to me."

"Well," Arthur said nastily. "You must not have tried very hard then. There seems to be a pattern in there somewhere. Merlin goes away and you fail to bring him back with you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Awen said angrily.

"What do you think it means? You tried to bring him back during the Demon War and you failed. You tried to bring him back today and you failed. Maybe it's not me that sends Merlin packing. Maybe it's you."

"Take that back," Awen hissed, voice ice cold. "Take it back right now, Arthur Pendragon."

"Why? Scared it might be true?"

Where was this coming from, Arthur wondered. And why the hell couldn't he stop? He and Awen had always gotten along just fine, but now all Arthur wanted to do was blame her for what he knew was his fault. He didn't want to admit that he might have lost his best friend forever. Hurting Awen was easier even though, in the long run, he knew it was only making his situation worse. In that moment, he was glad he was blind because the expression on her face must have been something to behold.

"You've never forgiven me for that, have you?" Awen asked quietly.

"What?" Arthur barked, surprised. He had expected anger, a retaliation of some sort. Not this. This only made him feel worse.

"You've never forgiven me for giving up on him," Awen repeated.

"That has nothing to do with this," Arthur said lamely.

"Then why say it?"

To hurt you, Arthur thought. Instead, he whispered, "I don't know."

"Sure," Awen replied. "Sure you don't."

"Awen—"

"I think about it everyday, you know. I replay the whole thing in my mind over and over again and try to understand why I froze. Why I panicked."

"I shouldn't have brought it up," Arthur began. "There is no need to expl—"

"And I think I've finally figured it out. I froze because I love him, Arthur. The thought of him going where I couldn't follow makes me sick to my stomach. But, you know what?"

Arthur didn't say anything. He felt like an ass and almost wished Merlin were there to turn him into one.

"I may have frozen, Arthur, but there was nothing left of him when I did. He was dead and I don't think anything I did changed that."

"What are you saying?" Arthur asked, heart beating painfully in his chest.

"I'm saying that I know there was more involved in this than Merlin is telling me. I'm saying that I know without a shadow of a doubt that Merlin was gone and maybe I brought him back from the edge, but somebody helped get him that far. And I think you know what Merlin isn't telling me and that is why you are so angry. I'm not asking you to tell me what it is. To be honest, I don't want to know if he doesn't want me to know. As hard as it is I've learned to trust his judgment on that. I just wanted you to know that I've come to terms with what happened that night and hope you will to."

Arthur didn't know what to say to that. He hadn't really meant to bring the subject up at all, partly because he already knew that Awen hadn't been able to bring him back, but also because he hated thinking about how he'd felt that night, how desperate and hurt he'd been. He'd wanted to hurt her, but he did so at the expense of himself.

"Do you really think he won't come back?" Arthur asked eventually. "It's Merlin, isn't it? He can't possibly stay furious with me forever."

"Not on his own he couldn't," Awen replied. "But, with black magic fueling his anger I'm not sure if even you will be able to get through to him."

"Black magic?"

"Arthur," Awen admonished. "You know Merlin. You know that there is nothing you could say to him that would make him abandon you. So why? Why did he walk away?"

"Because he was enchanted," Arthur whispered.

"It has to be. Arthur, no offense, but you have a temper. You react to what is said to you, but Merlin doesn't. He never has. He gets hurt, annoyed, frustrated even, but he never gets angry. Not like he did today. You said something to him and it ignited the flame that whoever is trying to control him was hoping for."

"Who would want to do something like this?" Arthur asked her. "The only person I can think of is in Camelot trapped in her own nightmares. I can't think of anyone who would—damn."

"What?"

"The god we're trying to steal from," Arthur said flatly. "Arawn. It has to be. He's a master at this sort of thing. Part of the reason my father loved him so much."

"Then we have to break whatever hold he has on him. Merlin wouldn't give up on you, Arthur. Don't give up on him."

"I never planned to," Arthur told her quietly. "I just needed a little push to get moving."

"Oh, I would have given you much more than a push. I still might."

"I'll have to watch my back then," Arthur laughed.

He liked the feel of it in his throat. It felt like he hadn't laughed in centuries. He stood, waving Awen's hand away when she tried to help him. He was going to have to get used to moving without being able to see one way or the other. Nothing was going to stop him from what accomplishing what he needed to, nothing was going to keep him from bringing Merlin back.

An ice-cold spasm of pain in his skull brought Arthur back to his knees again. He grit his teeth against it and tried to ignore the way Awen's voice pounded through his brain like tiny shards of ice. What the hell was going on now? He was going to pass out the pain was so bad. He wanted to scream, but he bit down on it and tried to ride it out. Wave after wave hit him and Arthur knew he was going to drop dead right where he was and then—and then…then it was gone. Quickly as it had come.

Arthur could breathe again and he did so with great enthusiasm.

"Arthur?" Awen was shouting. "Arthur, are you alright?"

"Yeah," Arthur said, blinking, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"What was that?" Gwain asked, striding towards them. "We heard the Princess screaming."

"I didn't scream," Arthur said distastefully, glancing over at Gwain.

"What happened, sire?" Leon asked quietly.

"I'm not sure," Arthur told him honestly. "But, I think it had something to do with my sudden ability to see."

Awen glanced at him sharply and he laughed. He could see and maybe it was the simple joy of having vision again but he thought the world seemed crisper than before. More vibrant.

"I don't understand what happened," Arthur told them. "One second I couldn't see my hand in front of my face and then the next—"

"You believed in yourself again," Elyan said quietly.

"What?"

"You found a purpose," Elyan said. "A reason to deny the future the banshee gave to you. I knew you would eventually. What brought on the sudden change?"

"Merlin," Arthur whispered. "What else?"

"So," Gwain said slowly. "We're going to get him, right? Because I was considering mutiny, treason, the works if we didn't get moving soon."

"Yeah," Arthur replied. "Be ready to move out in five minutes. We've got a warlock to find."


End file.
